


Welcome to Cabaret

by vivianblakesunrisebay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Gay Relationship, Christmas World, David has a nemesis and it's Gwen, Episode: s05e14 Life is a Cabaret, Falling In Love, Gwen really likes Christmas World, Hand Jobs, Karaoke, M/M, Mutual Pining, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Patrick really needs gay friends, Pining, Private dance lessons, Slow Burn, Trapped In A Closet, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivianblakesunrisebay/pseuds/vivianblakesunrisebay
Summary: In this alternate universe, Moira is the director of Cabaret, David is her assistant director, and Patrick is the star of the show.In other words, David and Patrick meet during the a production of Cabaret.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 396
Kudos: 610
Collections: Sexy Cabaret Feelings





	1. Auditions

**Author's Note:**

> This story is 87% written, and I will be updating once or twice a week.
> 
> Thanks to my lovely betas Likerealpeopledo and missgeevious!
> 
> Thanks also to all the lovely people at the Rosebudd, especially my good friend barelypink, for validation and encouragement and listening to me whine.

_“You_ are playing Sally Bowles?” David asked. 

“Apparently,” Stevie said drily.

He opened his mouth to say _can you even sing_ and _I’ve seen you dance_ but he closed it again. Stevie was looking at him with her usual smirk, but there was something in her eyes that made him want to tread lightly here.

“I didn’t know you were interested in that,” he said.

“I’m not. Have you ever tried saying no to your mother?” Stevie said.

“Many times,” he said. He didn’t mention that _tried_ was the operative word there. He had tried many times, and possibly, someday, he might even succeed.

“Well, you’ll be great,” he said, and Stevie rolled her eyes at him because she knew that he wasn’t the kind of person who ever said _you’ll be great_ unironically. But then she wasn’t the kind of person who normally did things that forced him to say it! Why was she doing this to him?

All right, fine. Let Stevie star in Cabaret. He could be supportive. 

But here was the thing: Stevie was his partner in ironic detachment, and if she was going to go around _trying_ things instead of making fun of people who tried things, where did that leave him? Was he going to have to be cool and detached all by himself? 

Because he already knew what that was like.

*

This production of Cabaret was not going well, as far as he could tell. When his mother had gotten wind that Jocelyn was taking on this “cultural monolith,” which just happened to be the show that had given Television’s Moira Rose her big break, it was inevitable that she would interfere.

Next to fall was Alexis, when she volunteered to play Sally. David knew he was certainly capable of self-delusion—recent events had made that very clear—but the fact that Alexis imagined she could sing never ceased to amaze him. But after being rejected for the lead, she had happily settled for being a Kit Kat dancer. When he’d asked her why, she’d flipped her hair at him and said she liked dancing and she’d wear a cute outfit and who cared if it wasn’t the lead? She had a lot fewer lines to memorize. 

Alexis was different, these days. She still seemed sad about Ted and the fact that he was with Heather, but going back to high school and now community college seemed to have energized her. She seemed more willing to try new things and actually stick to them, even if it wasn’t what she originally envisioned. So, fine.

Why anyone would want to be associated with a production so obviously doomed to failure was beyond him, but now that Stevie had been sucked in too, it seemed that all the people in his life were falling like dominoes.

However, he couldn’t help being a _tiny_ bit curious. No one in his family was likely to remember this, but David had actually directed a play once. Sort of. He’d had a boyfriend who asked him to put up money for a play he was directing. David gave him the money and agreed to help out with the art direction. It was all very unofficial, but that didn’t stop David from secretly harboring romantic fantasies of himself and Sebastien as the next power couple in the New York theater world.

Those fantasies had crumbled to nothing, just like all of David’s romantic fantasies, when Sebastien spent most of the production doing cocaine and fucking half the cast. That was when he showed up; when he didn’t, David covered for him, and had, in the end, essentially directed the play. Group work wasn’t exactly David’s strong suit, but he found the entire process strangely rewarding.

Then, halfway through the play's run, Sebastien dumped him, leaving him without even a producer’s credit. The play turned into a minor hit, and Sebastien went on to direct more plays and then switched to films, while David spent a year watching Bridget Jones’ Diary and eating mall pretzels. Alexis flew back from Ulan Bator and practically moved in with him for eight months. After that, plus the Jared Leto disaster, David swore he wasn’t going to date any more assholes from the entertainment world, and he hadn’t. He dated assholes from other walks of life instead.

At any rate, all this theater talk was bringing back bad memories, which was very bad for his skin. He added a ninth step to his eight-step skincare routine and vowed to stay far, far away from this production.

*

“David,” his mother said. “I’m wondering if I could persuade you to sit in on auditions today. Jocelyn is at the doctor for her little situation.”

 _Her situation_ is what his mother called Jocelyn’s pregnancy.

“I really don’t see how you think I could help,” David said, not looking up. He was lying on his bed scrolling through Instagram.

“I hate to see you moping this way, David.”

David kept his eyes on his phone. “I’m not moping, I’m relaxing.”

His mother said, “Are you still telling yourself that, dear?”

He looked up. She was looking at him with a reproachful look on her face, a scolding, fond look, a mother’s look; when she should know they weren’t doing that now, especially not after she had—when the _reason_ he was doing nothing was—

“Yes, I am telling myself that, because it is still true.” But he could feel himself weakening. Dammit.

“David, please. I at least need someone to take notes on the performers. These townspeople are very hard to tell apart from one another.”

David sat up and threw down his phone. “Fine,” he said. “But I’m taking notes, and that’s it.”

“Excellent,” Moira said.

It was true David hadn’t felt like doing much of anything these days. But he was definitely not moping. He was _decompressing._

Certainly, it had been a blow when his mother voted against him getting the lease of the general store, and oh-by-the-way dropped the bomb that she and Dad had funded his galleries in New York. Everything, every tiny shred of success he had ever had in his life, had been bought and paid for by Moira and Johnny Rose. 

But that was a month ago, and he was fine now. Christmas World was going in where the general store used to be, and he had moved on. 

*

The auditions were a disaster. Naturally. 

The Kit Kat dancers had already been mostly cast, and his mother said she had a Fraulein Schneider who was surprisingly good. And Stevie was Sally. After viewing the auditions, he understood a little better now why Mom had cast Stevie as Sally. She at least had the right look and the right energy.

First up, there was Bob. His mother started off by asking him, “So tell me, Robert, why are you auditioning for this play?” 

And Bob chuckled and said, “Well, Gwen asked me if I could be out of the house every day between four and six.”

It was downhill from there.

David took meticulous notes on what the people said, their acting choices and their (lack of) singing ability. He got up and read with people. He gave them feedback, just a few things here and there, obvious things that needed to be said.

After they had seen everyone, his mother turned and looked at him expectantly. “What did you think, David?”

He made a face. “Well …” he said.

“A promising day, I thought,” his mother said.

“Were we watching the same people?” David said. “Bob actually had a decent voice and could be Herr Schultz, and you had one person who might be able to play Cliff, but that’s it! No one for the emcee!”

“Who did you see for Cliff?”

He looked at his notes. “Adam?”

His mother said, “He was a good singer. You don’t think he could play the emcee?”

He shook his head decisively. “Absolutely not. Not enough stage presence.”

His mother was looking at him with a little smile. “I am not as discouraged as you are,” she said. “And with a little help …” She trailed off, looking at him meaningfully.

“Oh, no,” he said. “No.”

“If I recall, you do have some experience in the director’s chair, David.”

“You knew about that?” Had his mother actually come to see the play? He would remember that, surely. But he had been going through a lot back then, so maybe—

His mother said, “I was unfortunately prevented from actually attending the production. But from what I understand, it was quite the little sensation.”

“Okay,” he said. Of course she hadn’t seen it. “I had actual actors to work with then. Not people like—like Bob.”

“What you are seeing, David, is the cast in its embryonic state. This is the clay waiting to be molded into the final finished product by the powerful hands of the creator.”

“Well, I’m just saying this clay is going to need a lot of molding.”

“A true artist does not shy away from a challenge, David!” she said. “These setbacks are but landmarks on the way to artistic triumph.” 

“If you say so,” he said. He tried to convey with his tone that these were _her_ challenges, not his.

His mother just looked at him with her little speculative half-smile. He’d seen that look before. It usually meant he was about to get dragged into something that was going to cause him a lot of grief and hassle, with nothing in the way of reward or thanks at the end of it.

“What?” he finally said. 

But she just held out her hand for the notes he’d taken. He handed them over. “Thank you for your assistance today,” she said.

David, braced for an argument, was a little surprised to be dismissed so quickly. He stood up and hovered a little uncertainly.

“Good night, David,” his mother said.

“Okay, well. Good night,” he said. He went out.

*

On his way to the motel, he stopped in front of the old general store. 

There was a banner hanging across the front reading “Christmas World—Coming soon!” That banner had been there for weeks, but now there was a new sign below it: “Now hiring!”

_Setbacks are but landmarks on the way to triumph._

Was that a slam at him? That was probably a slam.

David stood hesitating, contemplating the wreckage of his dreams, embodied in the monstrosity of this big box seasonal store. His eyes dropped to the windows, and he noticed that there was someone inside, a woman with a clipboard, and she was waving at him. When he met her eye, she eagerly beckoned him in.

Because he had a way of responding to direct commands—which was definitely something he needed to work on—David found himself opening the door and walking in. He looked around. He hadn’t seen the store since it had been cleaned out. He had been right about its potential. The natural light, the subway tile, the wood floors—the bones this place had! What someone with a discerning eye and impeccable taste could do with it!

Too bad they’d never get the chance. This subway tile would be defaced with tinsel and grinning Santas, the wood floors scuffed by careless elves in pointy shoes.

His eyes came to rest on the woman with the clipboard. She was young, practically a teenager, wearing a glittery snowman sweater, an aggressively perky ponytail and a deranged smile. “Merry Thursday!” she said. “I saw you and I knew you wanted to come in. You just needed a little encouragement.”

She was looking at him expectantly. “Encouragement,” he echoed.

“To apply!” she said. “Christmas World is, like, super excited to bring jobs to this community.”

“Oh, no, I don’t—I’m not—” David said.

“Do you have your resume?” she said.

“I’m actually not looking for work right now?” Why did that come out as a question?

“Oh, do you have a job? Because part time hours are available too!”

“No, no, I’m not working.”

Her face scrunched up. “Oh. Well, long term unemployment is not _super_ great for your chances—”

“I didn’t say it was _long term,_ ” David said. 

“—but I’m sure you have lots of good qualities? And like, marketable skills? And remember a little Christmas cheer goes a long way!” Her smile stretched even bigger. It was frightening. David could feel his mouth turning down to compensate.

“I don’t think I really fit the Christmas World brand, unless you want a deeply embittered, mildly Hebraic-looking elf talking to your customers.” he said. 

The girl’s smile faded and now she looked like she wanted to cry. “It’s so important not to give up,” she said earnestly. “I could put in a good word for you—”

“I haven’t _given up._ I just don’t want to work here!” he said, practically shouting it.

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Okay, rude.”

The bell jangled, and an older woman came in, a Santa hat perched on her grey hair. She looked vaguely familiar. “Is this where I apply for Christmas World?” she asked the girl eagerly.

“That’s right!” the girl said. David decided to take this opportunity to get away.

When he tried to pass the older woman, though, she stepped in front of him, barring his path. “Hello, David,” she said, practically spitting out his name.

“Um, hello?” What the hell? Who was this woman?

“Bob told me all about how you tried to hijack the lease for this place,” she hissed.

“No,” David said. “I mean, yes, I applied for the lease, but I wasn’t trying to _hijack_ —”

She held up her hand, cutting him off. “Just be grateful you didn’t succeed,” she said, and swept past him to approach the girl with the clipboard. “Gwen Currie,” she said, holding out her hand. “Merry Thursday.”

“Merry Thursday!” David heard the girl chirp in return, as he got the hell out of there.

Once he was outside, he paused for a moment and looked back. Gwen—whoever the fuck that was—was glaring at him. Her eyes glinted balefully from under the Santa hat. He quickly walked away.

Well. That was weird.

David took out his phone to text Stevie.

 **David:** want to get drunk tonight?  
**Stevie:** thought you’d never ask

*

They were ensconced on their barstools, about to do their second round of polar bear shots, when Stevie said, “So is this fun drinking or are we still doing ‘moping about your future’ drinking?”

“Excuse me,” David said. “I would appreciate not being mocked. I have had a _very_ difficult day.”

“So, moping drinking it is then.”

“Hey,” David said. “Who says I can’t do both?” 

They clinked glasses and downed their shots.

“Another round?” David said. He looked up, but there was no one behind the bar. David looked around and saw the bartender coming out of the back room with his arms full of equipment.

He pointed. “Is that …”

“Yep. Karaoke,” Stevie said. “Now I definitely need more shots.”

*

After an hour of listening to increasingly tuneless renditions of Journey and Celine Dion, David tried to convince Stevie to get up and sing a song. 

“No,” she said. "I hate singing in front of people.”

“Um, I hate to tell you this, but you are going to be singing in front of a lot of people in the very near future.”

“Don’t remind me,” Stevie said. “I have no idea why I agreed to that.”

 _I don’t know why either,_ David didn’t say. He was drunk but he knew better than that. He was a _supportive friend_. “It might be good practice,” he said instead.

“I was thinking more about looking for randoms tonight,” Stevie said.

David said, “Um, I thought you were cheering me up.”

“That too. It’s just, that’s kind of a full time job.”

David narrowed his eyes at her. “I resent that,” he said.

Stevie circled on her stool to scope out the room, a siren in flannel and faded denim. David signaled to the bartender for another round.

Stevie nudged him. “Stop,” he muttered. She nudged him again, nodding to point out someone across the bar.

David glanced in the direction she’d indicated, at a man sitting alone at the end of the bar drinking a beer. He was cute in a nondescript kind of way, with short brown hair and a round, tidy face, all tucked into a blue button down.

“He looks like an accountant,” David said.

“A cute accountant,” Stevie said.

The bartender brought their shots. David gave one to Stevie and picked up the other one. They downed them.

“Fine, whatever,” David said. “Go for it. I’m sure I can find a way home somehow.”

Stevie said, “Maybe I can go in his car, and I’ll let you drive mine home.”

“Okay, no,” David said. “You are not getting into a strange man’s car. He could be a serial killer.”

“I thought he was an accountant,” Stevie said.

“He can be both.”

Stevie was openly staring now. “Stop being so obvious,” David whispered.

“What?” Stevie said. “It’s my seduction technique.”

“Staring is your seduction technique?” he said.

“It works,” she said. She looked a long moment longer, but the guy didn’t look over. She turned back to David.

“You were saying?” David said.

“Maybe he’s not interested in women,” Stevie said.

“If that guy isn’t straight, I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, David?” Stevie asked.

_I’ll go after him myself._

Whoa. Where had that thought come from? David looked over again, and saw what his subconscious had obviously registered already, which was that the guy had a very nice set of shoulders filling out the button down, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms like a Greek god. As David watched, the guy lifted his beer bottle and wrapped his lips around it, which was, ugh, pretty hot. David looked away.

“Stop making me look at unattainable people,” he said irritably. 

Stevie’s eyebrows climbed up to her hairline at that, and he waved a finger in front of her face, to erase where her mind was going. 

“Just shut up and sing a song already,” he said.

“Fine,” Stevie said. “Two more shots and I’ll do it.” She got up to get the binder of songs and started paging through it.

David signaled the bartender again.

While Stevie was absorbed, David’s eyes wandered back over to Blue Button Down, and the guy looked up and met David’s gaze. His eyes were warm and whiskey-brown, and something kindled in them as he looked at David. David’s breath caught. He felt pinned, held; he couldn’t look away.

Stevie said, without looking up from her binder, “I’ll sing a song if you go talk to that guy.”

David jumped a mile and dragged his eyes away. “I thought we established that he was straight.”

“An accountant and a serial killer _and_ heterosexual? Making a lot of assumptions tonight, aren’t we?”

He pointed at her. “You are just trying to distract me from what is supposed to be happening here, which is you getting up and singing.”

The bartender brought over four shots. “Drink up,” David said.

Stevie did, very impressively knocking back both of her shots, one after another. She wiped her mouth and said, “Maybe I’ll ask the heterosexual accountant serial killer to sing a duet with me.”

“Fine, great idea.” If Stevie hooked up with the accountant, David would stop thinking about him. He had enough problems without fantasizing about obviously straight guys. “Please do it soon. I don’t know how much more Journey I can listen to.”

David downed his shots while Stevie bent her head back over the binder.

“I’ve got it,” Stevie said, tapping the page.

“What is it?” David said. 

“You’ll see,” she said loftily. She picked up the binder and went over to Blue Button Down. As David watched, she opened it up and pointed out the song. The guy put his head to one side and seemed to be considering. Then Stevie gestured over at _David,_ and Blue looked over at him with a little smile. “Oh, no. No nono no nononono,” David said, making denying motions with his hands. What the fuck was Stevie saying to him?

Then Blue stood up and he and Stevie made their way to the karaoke machine. They stood waiting as somebody finished up a very enthusiastic rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody." Blue was smiling, his head bent toward Stevie, and David tried not to look at the ass Blue was hiding under some very boring mid-range denim. Jesus. 

Bohemian Rhapsody stepped aside to a smattering of very muted applause, and Stevie and Blue stepped forward and picked up the mics. The music began and David’s mouth twisted when he recognized the opening bars of “You’re the One That I Want.” He was going to kill Stevie.

And then. 

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous what happened next. 

Stevie and this random Blue guy brought down the house with that stupid song. Blue started out the first verse “I got chills, they’re multiplying …” and he sounded good, like really fucking good; his voice was smooth and rough at the same time, like a croon crossed with a sexy growl, and David’s mouth fell open, like how many times was this guy going to surprise him?

One more time, apparently. 

Because during one of the rounds of “You’re the one that I want,” Blue turned and looked at _David_ and there was a look on his face, a definite look, like the one he’d given him a few minutes ago, across the bar; but before David could react, it was over; Blue was turning back to Stevie to sing with her, and Stevie was singing back and she actually sounded _good_ and where had _that_ come from?

They wrapped up the song and the whole Wobbly Elm actually exploded into shouts and applause. A couple of people stood up. Stevie looked stunned, and Blue was looking at her and smiling, and he touched her arm gently, and encouraged her to acknowledge the crowd.

Arm touching. Okay. Yes, so that was happening. David had definitely imagined the moment earlier.

David applauded as Stevie made her way back over, bringing Blue with her. Stevie got back on her barstool, and there wasn’t another one available so Blue leaned on the bar on one of his ridiculously attractive forearms. The forearm was now very close to David.

“That was very impressive,” David said, looking between the two of them.

Blue just nodded and _blushed._ David watched the way the blush spread down his neck and wondered how far down it went. He’d very much like to see how far. If he unbuttoned that shirt, one button at a time, would that make Blue blush harder? And David could kiss that hot, flushed skin as it was revealed, button by button—

Stevie’s voice, loud, “I need another shot for me and my partner here.”

“I’m good,” David said. His head was swimming. He was definitely drunk. He was having drunk thoughts. 

“I mean my singing partner,” Stevie said.

“I think I’m good, too,” Blue said. “I had a lot of beer. Earlier.”

Stevie held up a finger. “One shot,” she said. She was giving Blue her best intense Stevie look. _It’s my seduction technique._ Ugh.

“Okay, one shot,” Blue said.

“Don’t, if you don’t want to,” David interjected. “Liquor before beer, or whatever.”

“Thank you,” Blue said, turning to David with a smile. “But I can probably handle one shot.” 

Stevie gave the order to the bartender, and Blue held out his hand to David. “I’m Patrick,” he said.

David shook his hand. Patrick’s grip was firm and strong. Of course. The forearms. “Hi David, I’m Patrick,” David said. 

Patrick’s eyebrows quirked up. 

“The other way around, I mean,” David said. Great. This was going great.

Patrick seemed to be trying not to laugh. That was probably the only reason he didn’t let go of David’s hand right away.

The shots arrived, and Patrick let go of David’s hand to take his shot. “To singing in public,” Stevie said.

“Singing in public,” Patrick echoed. They clinked glasses and knocked back their shots, giving David a nice view of the length of Patrick’s neck as he tipped his head back.

Wait. _Singing in public._ Cabaret. 

_The motherfucking emcee._

But first. He turned to Stevie. “You know what?”

“What, David?” She was smirking.

He pointed at her. “You’re going to nail it,” he said. “The part. Sally. You’re going to fucking nail it.”

Stevie smile faded. She said, “We’ll see.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?"

“Never got drunk enough,” she said.

David shook his head and waved his arms, which made him almost tip off his barstool. Patrick caught him by the arm and righted him. And that felt nice, Patrick catching him—very very nice.

“Thank you,” David said to Patrick. 

“Anytime,” Patrick said. 

David held a finger up to him. “Need to talk to you,” he said.

“Okay,” Patrick said. 

“Stevie is going to star in Cabaret,” David began.

Patrick smiled. He looked over at Stevie. “That’s great!” She smiled back.

David knew that Stevie was planning to take this guy home, and he should make himself scarce so they could get on with it. He just needed to take care of this first.

He looked at Blue. Patrick. “Have you appeared in musicals before?”

“A few,” Patrick said. “Awhile ago. In high school and college, mostly.”

“Which ones?”

“Well, Grease,” he said.

“Ah,” David said. That explained some things. “Any others?”

“Guys and Dolls. Bye Bye Birdie.”

“Sky Masterson? Conrad Birdie?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. 

“Oh my God, spit it out, David,” Stevie said.

“Fine!” David snapped at her. There was a process, here. He turned back to Patrick. He took a deep breath and concentrated, so he could sound professional and not like a sloppy drunk. “My mother is putting on Cabaret. We can’t find anyone for the emcee. I think you could do it.”

“Really?” Patrick said. “You think I can do it based on just … that?” He gestured to the stage, where the Bohemian Rhapsody guy had reclaimed the mic and was now butchering “Sweet Caroline.”

“Yes,” David said.

Patrick tilted his head to the side. “You must have really liked it, huh?”

“I believe I have indicated that I did,” David said, and he heard Stevie snickering behind him.

“I guess you did … indicate that.” Patrick looked past him to meet Stevie’s eye.

Okay, so David could take a hint. This is what he got for trying to help out. He got to be the third wheel while these two heterosexuals performed their little pre-hookup ritual. 

He said, still aiming for crisp and professional, “Since you are obviously not interested, I will withdraw the offer.” He slid off the barstool, slowly, holding on to the edge of the bar. He had to keep his dignity here.

Patrick said, “Wait, who said I wasn’t interested?”

“You did,” David said.

“I don’t think I did, though,” Patrick said.

“I didn’t hear it,” Stevie piped up.

“It was clear from your _tone,_ ” David said.

“Well, I’d rather you waited until it was clear from my _words,_ ” Patrick said.

“Fine,” David said. If Patrick was going to keep up this ridiculous pretense, so would he. “Do you have a piece of paper? A business card, something like that?”

“Sure,” Patrick said. He took out his wallet, fished out his card. “This is my old card,” he said. “I just moved here.”

David took the card and flipped it over to write on the back. He wrote _Cabaret_ and his mother’s number and gave him the card back. Now it was time for him to get out of here, and Stevie and Blue Button Down would go home together and do whatever, and David could banish the idea that those forearms would ever be wrapped around _him._

Stevie arranged with the bartender to call a couple of cabs, and they all stumbled out of the bar together. David crawled into one cab with his eyes firmly averted from the other two, but before he knew what was happening Stevie was climbing in after him and they were driving away. 

He hadn’t even looked at Patrick, or said goodbye, or anything.

“Um, how did that happen?” David said to Stevie.

“What?” Stevie said.

“I thought you were going home with him,” he said. He waved his hand in the direction they’d just come from.

“No,” Stevie said. “That was never going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because if he was into either of us, it was you.”

David shook his head. “No.” 

“He was flirting with you like crazy.”

David kept shaking his head. “That wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh my God, David.”

David thought about it. Okay, so maybe there were a couple of times he’d thought he'd felt … something. Maybe. But nothing that couldn't just as easily be wishful thinking. 

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said finally. “I don’t even know his last name.”

“You were holding his business card in your hand. You didn’t look at his last name?”

“No, I flipped it over to write on the back.”

Stevie looked up to the roof of the cab, like it could help her deal with his stupidity. “Okay,” she said.“Well, he has your number anyway. I’m pretty sure he’ll call.”

“I … didn’t give him my number.”

“What?”

“No. I gave him my mother’s number.”

Steve started cackling. That was the only word for it. She was laughing like she couldn’t stop. “David, you have no game at all! You have zero game. Zero.”

“I thought you were interested in him! I was trying to get away so you could hook up!”

Stevie said, “So that was you trying to be my wingman?”

“Yes, actually,” David said. 

That made her laugh harder. “Stop,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Are you finished?” David said coldly. Really, Stevie had no reason to be so sure of herself. “I still think he was into you.”

“He really wasn’t.”

He threw up his hands. There was no way Blue Button Down in mid-range denim was interested in him. And if he was, on the off chance that he was…

David had given him _his mother’s phone number._

He leaned back and knocked his head against the seat.

Stevie was right. He had no game at all.


	2. Lead actor

Patrick was just very bad at dating, clearly.

He didn’t have much practice, not even with dating women, because he’d basically dated one woman, a woman he’d known his whole life. He’d dated a few other girls when he and Rachel had gone through their many breakups, but if he was honest he never really set out to do it. It was more falling into opportunities that came his way, hoping to find someone who didn’t make him feel itchy in his own skin.

Rachel loved celebrity gossip. She loved talking about movie stars and she followed their romances and their social media accounts. She used to always prod Patrick for his opinions about them. Who was prettier, Christina Aguilera or Britney Spears? Keira Knightly or Anne Hathaway? Shakira or Beyonce? It was always hard for him to answer her in the way that she wanted. They were all pretty; why did he have to have an opinion? 

One day she said, “I would be totally gay for Anna Kendrick, who would you be gay for?” and Patrick said “Oscar Isaac,” like a shot, without even having to _think_ about it. Rachel had just laughed and said, “Good choice.” 

And he didn’t say them out loud, but his brain supplied a couple more names, just being helpful: Chris Pine, Chris Hemsworth … Patrick could think of half a dozen guys just named Chris.

Huh.

 _What if I were actually gay,_ he thought. And the thought burrowed into his mind and stuck there; and he’d subconsciously started looking for ways to disprove it, something definitive that said _nope, not gay_ , and he’d never been able to; and little things started to _confirm_ it, like a puzzle assembling itself in his brain, piece by piece; things he’d thought and felt and dreamed about and wondered about in the past, and the idea kept gnawing and gnawing at him, until—well, until he’d ended up here.

Making even small changes had always been hard for him. So he’d blown up his whole life instead.

He’d left Rachel practically at the altar, run away to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere, taken a job working on a goat farm, come out to his parents over the phone in one awkward, hurried phone call, and now he was trying to date men. 

It was a lot.

So, small wonder that he wasn’t doing such a good job at this dating-men thing.

He _had_ figured out how to hook up, though—he had that down.

The first time he’d done it, what a rush it had been. It had taken weeks for Patrick to work up the courage to post a profile on Bumpkin under “men seeking men,” his status set to “looking for a hookup.” Then it had taken him several more weeks to message anyone back, he was so nervous about revealing himself to be completely incompetent at gay sex. When he finally did arrange to meet someone, the guy—his name was Josh—had sucked Patrick’s dick and jerked himself off at the same time and Patrick hadn’t had to do a thing. When Patrick had stumblingly asked afterwards if there was anything he could do for him, the guy had smiled sunnily and said no, he just really liked sucking cock and he had enjoyed sucking his, thanks so much, see you around.

So. That was nice.

The next time didn’t go quite so smoothly, but Patrick did get to touch the other guy’s dick, which he really wanted to do despite his worries about doing it wrong. This guy’s name was Cole, and Cole ended up putting his hand over Patrick’s and helping him as he was jacking him off, which Patrick figured meant he hadn’t been doing such a great job; it was hard to get the angle right and his wrist got tired. But, in the end, the guy came, and that was very satisfying, that Patrick could do that, he could make a guy come.

And, it was good, it was so good to finally have sex that he enjoyed, despite the awkwardness; to be able to say with certainty, _I’m gay, I’m a gay man,_ and feel easy inside his own skin in a way he never had before. After a few more encounters, including his first time giving a blowjob, he had more confidence, and he started to feel like he knew what he was doing, he was building up a skill set. He went a little crazy for a bit, swiping right so often that just picking up his phone would make his dick twitch.

Not that every time was great. There was plenty of awkwardness. There was one guy, Will, who was extremely talkative and kept up a constant stream of dirty talk, mostly centered around Patrick’s cock and how much he liked it, how big and thick and hard it was, and that was hot but also distracting, because what was Patrick supposed to say to that? Thank you? He’d never been very good at taking compliments. Finally, Patrick said, _I like yours too,_ and the guy said, what do you like about it; and Patrick said _it’s so hard,_ but he couldn’t say it was that big or thick, because it really wasn’t—he liked it and everything, but facts were facts. So instead he said, _I like how it feels in my hand,_ then, feeling bold, _I want to put it in my mouth;_ and then he did, and thank God, because that meant he didn’t have to talk anymore.

He kept a mental checklist of what he did, and what he still wanted to do, and he felt like he was learning not only how to give a hand job or a blowjob, but also how to say firmly up front what was on the table. He kept it confined to hands and mouth, nothing anal. Not that he didn’t want to try that, but he wanted to wait until he had a real boyfriend.

Because that’s what he wanted. A boyfriend.

Stupidly, a few weeks ago, he’d gotten his hopes up about someone. His name was Evan, and he was older than Patrick, early 40’s maybe, fit and outdoorsy and given to wearing fleece jackets and cargo pants with lots of pockets. After the first time they’d hooked up, he’d asked Patrick for his number. A few times a week, he would text and come over, always late at night, and each time was better than the last. They’d talk afterwards, sometimes, their limbs tangled together. One day, as they lay like that, Patrick had felt a rush of warm affection and asked, stupidly, if Evan would like to go on a real date sometime.

And just like that, everything changed. 

Evan’s face went blank, his expression shuttered. It was like a wall coming down, swift and immediate. 

He got up and started putting on his clothes.

“You don’t have to leave,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“What part of ‘only looking for a hookup’ did you not understand?” Evan said. “God, this always happens.”

That _always happens_ chilled Patrick to the bone. He couldn’t say anything else for awhile.

In a few minutes Evan was fully dressed, including his shoes, his cargo pants buttoned, his fleece snugly zipped up to his chin. Then he seemed to hesitate, as though he didn’t know what else to say. Patrick wanted nothing more than to be dressed himself, but he pulled the covers up to his chin and tried to keep his expression calm.

He said, “It was only a question. You had no obligation to say yes.”

“I know,” Evan said. “Uh, sorry.” He looked like maybe he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself.

Then he turned and left, without looking at Patrick again.

*

Patrick’s heart wasn’t broken. It really wasn’t. He hadn’t known Evan long enough for that. But still, he didn’t feel great. He wished he hadn’t said anything. But why did Evan have to freak out? Why couldn’t he have said something like, I don’t want to date you but I like what we have? Why did it all have to stop, just because Patrick had been an idiot?

The next day, he paged through the messages on the app, but the idea of meeting some stranger, going through that whole song and dance, just made him tired. 

He thought about changing his status to “looking for a relationship” but instead he deleted the app. Just for now, he told himself. He could always download it again later.

The next morning, when he got to the farm for work, Heather, the owner, was talking to a woman he didn’t recognize. The woman was small and petite, about twenty-five, with short dark hair and glasses. “Saturday, seven o’clock?” Heather was saying to her.

“Sure, I think I can do that,” the woman said.

Heather looked up at Patrick as he approached. “Patrick, this is Mia,” she said. “She and her aunt run the apple orchard up the road. I just invited her to dinner, and I’m inviting you too. Saturday?”

Patrick accepted, and Heather went on, “Do you have a girlfriend? She’s invited, too.”

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t had to say this before. “No, and actually, I’m, uh, gay. But, no boyfriend, either.”

Heather looked chagrined and apologized, and he waved it off. 

Mia watched this little ritual: the apology, the reassurance, her eyes bright. She said to Patrick, “Well, on behalf of the local queer community, welcome.” She gave a little ironic bow and smile. The smile was a polite, meeting-a-stranger smile, but it was also a bit sly and conspiratorial: _straight people, am I right?_

Patrick smiled back. “Thank you.”

Patrick went to dinner. He met Ted, Heather’s boyfriend, who was a veterinarian. He sat next to Mia, and found out she’d only been out a little while too. They compared notes, and it turned out Mia had come out to her family exactly two days before he broke off his engagement with Rachel. “I’ll be your gay mentor,” she said confidentially, tapping his arm. “I learned a lot in those two days.”

He liked Mia.

When he left at the end of the night he had Mia’s phone number. He also had somehow let Heather persuade him to go on a date with her cousin’s roommate Ken. He suspected Ken was the only other gay guy Heather knew, but that was okay.

*

When he arrived for the date with Ken, it turned out the only thing Heather had told him about Patrick was that he worked on her farm. Ken expressed relief within the first five minutes that Patrick looked “normal” and not like a “goat farmer.”

So then, perversely, Patrick decided not to tell him that he had a business degree, or that he was only working on Heather’s farm for the summer. No matter what topic Ken brought up, Patrick brought it back to goats, until he had imparted all the accumulated knowledge about goats he had acquired in the last six months. Ken’s eyes were glazing over after about an hour of this, and the date had ended early.

After Ken left, Patrick was depressed. Okay, he wasn’t that attracted to Ken—the guy’s shoes were definitely weird—but what had possessed him to behave that way on his first date with a man?

So then he’d gone to a bar to drown his sorrows, drank way too much, sang a duet from Grease, and met the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen. He’d tried to flirt with him and predictably had gotten nowhere.

Today, he was nursing a terrible hangover and staring at the phone number David had given him.

He shouldn’t call. David hadn’t given him his number because he was interested in him. He had made it clear it was about Cabaret, and who knows if he had even been that serious about it. He didn’t even know if David was gay. Maybe Stevie was his girlfriend.

David couldn’t really be as gorgeous as he remembered, anyway. No one could.

He put the card away.

*

The next day he got a text from Evan.

 **Evan:** Meet later?

 _Meet later_ was how Evan used to arrange their hookups. Patrick typed _you have got to be kidding_ and deleted it. He typed _well look who came crawling back_ and deleted it; _do you really think I would_ and deleted that too.

He wrote:

 **Patrick:** no thanks

 **Evan:** ok  
**Evan:** sorry

 _You should be sorry,_ Patrick thought. He knew he was being, maybe, a tiny bit unfair. Illogical. He himself had wished they could go back to how things were, had thought that the fact he had asked Evan for a date shouldn’t ruin everything. Then he decided he didn’t care about fair or logical. He felt good saying no. Take that, asshole.

He threw down his phone.

He suddenly remembered the card with David’s number. He took it out.

He picked up his phone again and dialed the number. A voice answered. A woman’s voice. An older woman with a plummy, unidentifiable accent.

“This is television’s Moira Rose,” the voice said.

He stammered out, “I’m sorry, I was trying to reach David—” He realized he didn’t know David’s last name and trailed off. Clearly, he had the wrong number. He should just hang up, but Television’s Moira Rose didn’t seem like the kind of person you should just hang up on.

“Oh, is this the young man from the drinking establishment? David informed me that he’d given you my number.”

Everything clicked into place suddenly. _My mother is putting on Cabaret,_ David had said. This was David’s mother.

Moira went on, “David spoke highly of your singing.”

“He did?” Patrick said.

“How is your acting?”

“Um,” Patrick said. He was still thinking about David. Could he ask what David had said about his singing?

“Young man,” Moira said. Her voice was crisp. “I am fully prepared to give you the benefit of every doubt, but this stumbling and mumbling does not inspire confidence.”

Patrick tried to pull himself together. “I’ve appeared in musicals before.”

“That can mean many things,” Moira said.

“Well, I’m no Joel Grey—” Patrick began.

“Of course you are not,” Moira said. “Why would you wish to be Joel Grey? You are yourself. Who else would you be? Now tell me, Peter—”

“It’s Patrick, actually.”

“Tell me why you wish to have this part.”

 _So I can see your son again._ “Uh, it seemed like a fun thing to do,” he said. 

“Ah!” Moira said, like this was profound, rather than the lamest answer he could have given. “Why do you think it will be fun?”

“I like performing?”

“Are you asking a question?”

“I like performing,” he said.

“Why? What do you like about it?”

“I like doing things I know I do well,” he said. “I sing well.”

“But why perform? One may sing alone in a room,” Moira said.

“I like—” How was he supposed to answer that? “I like performing. I like—the applause.”

“Yes, good,” Moira said warmly. “What is a performer without applause? Don’t hide your light, Peter. What about acting? Is this something you also do well?”

“Um,” he said.

“No false modesty, now.”

“Yes,” he said. “I can act.” 

_I’ve been acting my whole life._

Where had that come from? But it was true. How true it was hit him like a punch in the gut.

“I can act,” he repeated, his voice steady.

“Good,” Moira said. “Rehearsals commence this afternoon. Present yourself at the town hall at four o’clock.”

*

At four o’clock, he presented himself.

A few people were milling around nervously. He didn’t see anyone that looked like a director. The only person he knew was Stevie, and she was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall. She looked very different from the person he had sung with a few days before. He went and sat down next to her. She looked over at him.

“So you decided to come,” she said. “David didn’t think you were going to.”

“Why, what did David—”

At that moment someone sailed in who could only be Television’s Moira Rose. “Wilkommen and bienvenue, my darlings!” she said grandly.

The cast all turned to look at her. She stopped and looked around. “Where’s Jocelyn? Why was she not here to begin the rehearsal?”

“I don’t know, but _we_ were all on time,” said a tall blonde, sounding very annoyed.

Stevie leaned in. “That’s Alexis. Rose.” she said. 

Patrick looked at her. Moira’s daughter, David’s sister. As though feeling Patrick’s eyes on her, she turned and caught his gaze. She gave an unmistakable little shimmy and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Patrick quickly dropped his eyes. He looked over at Stevie and her mouth quirked up. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I think it’s just a reflex.”

Moira was rallying. Her voice pitched up. “Apparently our director is missing cues already!” she said. “Not to worry, I am here to step into the breach. Now, who has the scripts?” 

She looked at them all expectantly. Alexis said, “Aren’t _you_ supposed to have them?”

Moira waved that away. “Ah, Jocelyn has them. Never mind,” she said. “Scripts are an unnecessary encumbrance. I have many ideas for warm up exercises. Today is the day we introduce your bodies to the boards!”

Patrick started to get up, but stopped when Stevie said, “I’m really not sure why I agreed to this,” she said. “Mrs. Rose hypnotized me.”

Patrick sat back down. He said, “I think she’s good at that. She hypnotized me too.”

“But you at least have done this before. You can sing.”

“You can sing, too."

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk,” she said.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he said, although actually he kind of had been. But Stevie could sing, he was sure. Pretty sure.

Stevie was shaking her head. “I think this was a big mistake.”

Patrick didn’t want Stevie to drop out. She was the only person he knew here, and she looked so … he just didn’t want her to drop out. He tried to think of what to say. 

“Twenty very discerning, not at all drunk patrons at the Wobbly Elm loved your singing,” he said.

She didn’t look at him, but he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Don’t hide your light, Stevie,” he said.

“Oh my God,” she said, and rolled her eyes. But she got up.

*

They were in the middle of an exercise called “Yes, And” when a phone started ringing.

Moira looked around the room reproachfully. “Oh, now, I must insist that we silence our phones,” she said.

No one moved. The phone rang again.

Patrick cleared his throat. “I think that might be yours, Mrs. Rose.”

“Is it?” Moira turned to where she’d left her bag. She fished it out. “Oh, my! It is me. Excuse me.” She stepped to the side of the room to answer it. “Hello?” she said. “Jocelyn! Why are you not here? Your cast is eagerly awaiting your presence.”

Patrick was standing close to the door. He heard it open softly. He turned and saw David in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said. He tried to clamp down on the smile that wanted to spread over his face.

“Hi,” David said. “You decided to join then.”

Patrick gave a little half-shrug. “Yeah,” he said.

Meanwhile Stevie had spotted David and made her way over to them. It looked like David was there to pick her up, and Patrick wondered again if they were together.

Then Moira’s voice rose and they all turned to listen. “Bedrest!” she said into the phone. “Believe me, Jocelyn, I would love to be in bed resting right now. But the show must go on.”

There was a pause as she listened to Jocelyn on the other end. “Jocelyn, when I agreed to serve as your assistant director, I was not prepared to take on all the minutiae of putting on a production. That is your department.”

She listened again. “I must say, Jocelyn, your doctor cannot be aware of what this means for me. A medical professional should not reach into my chest and rip out my still beating heart!”

Her voice rose to a shriek. Patrick winced.

“Goodbye, Jocelyn,” Moira said. She jabbed a finger at the phone screen to hang it up. She dropped the phone on top of her bag and stood bent over, staring down, as if her heart really had been ripped out of her body. The cast stared at her in silence. Patrick glanced at David, who looked merely irritated, like this performance was about par for the course.

Moira straightened up. “That was Jocelyn,” she said. “There has been a small setback. A mere bagatelle.”

Her eyes circled the room. They landed on David by the door. She said, “Ah, there he is. My son has offered to assist us. He has been intimately connected to this production from the beginning!”

David’s face cycled through about a hundred different expressions, of which panic and dismay seemed to be uppermost. His eyes darted from side to side.

Stevie said cheerily into the silence, “David, thank you so much for saving us!”

Moira said, “My son, David Rose, your new assistant director!” She brought her hands to her mouth and blew David a kiss, then began clapping. After a beat the rest of the cast joined in, a smattering of applause. Patrick and Stevie clapped too.

“Very funny,” David hissed to them. “I am not going to be roped into this.”

Patrick widened his eyes. “But David, you _offered.”_

“You can’t back out now,” Stevie said.

Moira came over, saying, “Now, David, the first assistance you can provide is to determine where Jocelyn has hidden the scripts—” She took David’s arm.

David gave one last expressive look as she dragged him away.

Patrick watched him go. He said to Stevie, “So do you think David will be able to get out of it?”

Stevie shook her head decisively. “Not a chance,” she said.

Patrick’s eyes drifted back over to where David was standing next to his mother. Alexis had joined them and they were all talking at once and gesticulating wildly. It seemed to be a family trait. 

His eyes focused on David. Patrick had been wrong about one thing, he thought. David _was_ as gorgeous as he remembered. More so. At the bar, he had been dressed head to toe in black. Today his sweater was black but he was wearing white jeans that showed off his long, long legs. Patrick watched the way David’s arms moved in his characteristically large gestures, his hands expressive and graceful, his eyebrows going a mile a minute. Patrick loved watching him, loved seeing his body move, seeing the expressions flit across his face, loved feeling the energy radiating from his presence. In this room full of people, he dominated the space.

Here I am, he seemed to say. Just try to look away. 

Patrick didn’t want to try. He wanted to look at David; his eyes were raking over him, drinking him in, swallowing him down. A hundred other wants come tumbling after that one; he wanted to kiss David; to touch him; to strip off that black sweater and those white jeans and feel his body pressed against him; to get his hands in his hair and his nails in his back. He wanted it so much, he felt it must be radiating off of him in waves; if anyone looked at him, they would see it, see him; it would be written all over his face.

He dropped his eyes. He was standing in a crowded room next to David’s maybe-girlfriend. He didn’t know if David was straight or gay or would even be into him if he was. But he hoped; selfishly, he hoped that whatever magic Moira had worked to get Stevie and Patrick to agree to this would also work on David.

He wanted to see David again. He wanted David, period.


	3. Assistant director

“I can’t believe this is my life,” David said.

He and Stevie were splitting a joint, getting ready to watch a movie in the love room. It had been two weeks since his mother roped him into being her assistant director.

“You love it,” Stevie said, taking a deep drag off the joint.

“No, I do not love it. It is the worst.”

“You love it because you get to spend two hours a day looking at Patrick getting all sweaty in his tight little t-shirts and his little exercise pants that show off his—”

“Excuse me,” David interrupted. “I am not looking at that.”

Stevie raised her eyebrows. “You aren’t looking at what?” she asked.

He threw up his hands. “Him! I’m not looking at him.” He took the joint from her. “What this is teaching me is that putting on a show is a lot of fucking work.”

Stevie said, “Well, what this is teaching me is that I can’t sing, dance, or act.”

“Oh come on,” he said. “Compared to Alexis, you’re Liza Minelli.”

“I do thank God for Alexis every day,” Stevie admitted.

David laughed.

“Derrick has been really helpful,” Stevie said. 

“Derrick is good,” David agreed. Derrick was their choreographer. He lived in Elm Valley, but he was able to drive over two days a week to work on choreography and to teach the cast their steps.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Stevie said. “This is showing me a whole new side of you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll have you know I was runner up in the Little Mister tap dance competition, and I would have won if my mother hadn’t ‘forgotten’ to double-knot my tap shoes.”

“I … did not know that,” Stevie said. She had her _must not mock_ look on her face, which of course was just another way of mocking him.

“I also took dance lessons for five years because I had a crush on my mother’s dance instructor, so I probably know more about dancing than anyone else in this town.”

“Well, that is probably true,” Stevie said, in a voice that said that wasn’t saying much. She carefully put out the joint. “I don’t want to think about the show anymore. Let’s watch the movie. What movie did you bring?”

David winced. “Um, Cabaret?” he said.

Stevie said, “Are you kidding me?”

He held up the DVD. “I’m sorry, it’s research! I thought it might be helpful.”

“Fuck,” Stevie said. “Okay, put it on.”

*

Patrick was a bit of a distraction. Fine, he’d admit that.

His mother had quickly discovered that Patrick was a good actor with an excellent voice, and she told David in passing that “your Patrick was quite a find, dear.” 

_His_ Patrick.

David remembered how Patrick had teased him on that first day, his brown eyes gleaming, little laugh crinkles around them. Stevie thought that Patrick was interested in him, but David was pretty sure that Stevie was full of it, or possibly messing with his mind. He wouldn’t put it past her.

So, when it came to Patrick, David would be … polite. He would be friendly, but distant. And if Patrick wanted—which he didn’t—but if he did—then he could do something. Nothing was stopping him from doing … anything. Whatever.

Anyway.

David absolutely had his hands full right now, with the show. Working with his mother was turning out to be every bit as nightmarish as he could have imagined. His mother seemed to think she should just be able to drill the actors on their vocal exercises and acting choices (which, David admitted, she was very good at), and that David should take care of everything else. Choreography, sets, costumes, musicians, lighting. All those minor, trivial things.

In desperation, he called Jocelyn. She was able to give him some names of people who had helped out in the past. Apparently Jocelyn was bored out of her mind on bedrest and Roland was driving her crazy—which, valid—and she volunteered to make some calls.

It was through Jocelyn that he acquired Derrick the choreographer, a pit orchestra, and a cosmetologist named Janine from Gwendolyn’s Beauty Supply and Tanning. 

“You might be on your own with costumes, though,” Jocelyn said.

“Why?”

“Let’s just say you don’t want to deal with the drama I had to deal with when we did _Hair.”_

David decidedly did not want to think about the people of Schitt’s Creek doing _Hair._

Of course, David needed people to help with the sewing and the building and the painting, but he wanted to do the design work himself.

He planned to start by finding some genuine vintage things that he could use as a focal point for his designs. The only trouble was, finding genuine vintage anything was practically impossible in Schitt’s Creek. He was searching online for smaller things like costumes and props, but he’d been hoping to find some antique furniture locally. He spent hours fruitlessly driving around to antique stores, going farther and farther afield, marveling at what apparently passed for “antique” in this area. Mailboxes. Hubcaps. Plastic lawn ornaments. All of it very dusty and dirty. It was very bad for his knits and his mental health.

Also bad for his mental health: his mother. She seemed to have an instinct for weakness, for finding the one thing that wasn’t going well and prodding at him about it.

So of course one day, when he was in his room, reading about fabrics on a site called Vintage Dancer and taking notes in his journal, she came in and asked, “David, how are the sets and costumes coming along?”

“I have some ideas I’m working on,” David said. “I’ve just run into some snags.”

His mother was smiling her bright smile, the fake one. “David, ideas and snags won’t clothe the stage or our actors!”

“Okay. Can I just point out that I am doing this with almost no help?” 

“And whose fault is that? A good manager knows how to delegate, David.”

“Delegate to _who?”_

His mother paused, pursing her lips. “I really hate to see you looking so beleaguered.”

“Beleaguered? I’m not beleaguered.”

“At the very least, you seem a little bedeviled with all these responsibilities."

David snapped, “I’m not _bedeviled_ either!” 

She said, “I may have … underestimated how much work would end up on your shoulders.”

“You think?” he said. “But it’s fine. I am handling it.”

She hesitated, then gave him one sharp nod. “All right, dear,” she said. She went back to her room.

David stared at his journal, still in his hands. He read back over the notes he’d taken. _Voile. Cotton lisle. Wool. Rayon/artificial silk._

Why had he argued with her? If she fired him, his life would be a thousand percent easier. He hadn’t asked for any of this aggravation, and he should be relieved at the idea of not having to do it anymore. The truth was, he _was_ beleaguered. And bedeviled. 

Beset. Besieged. Those too.

The only thing was, if she fired him, it would be further confirmation of her low opinion of him. What was she really saying here? _I don’t think you can do this._ She hadn’t thought he could run a gallery by himself, she didn’t believe he could start his own business. And now this.

His mother had no faith in his management skills, that was clear. On the other hand, she had never faulted his taste. She depended on it, in fact. There was that time David had come upon her trying on outfits in a frenzy, fifteen minutes before she had to leave for the Daytime Emmys, and with mere minutes to spare he had chosen a dress and shoes and a necklace and earrings and even her wig—and then she had ended up on the Best Dressed list. The only time she ever had. Number seventeen, but still. Did she remember that? 

Well, _he_ did, even if she didn’t. 

So. 

He knew he was going to hate every second of this. He already did.

But he had _ideas_ here. And it was only natural he was interested in seeing them come to fruition.

He brought the Vintage Dancer site back up on his phone, and picked up his pen.

*

The thing was, when he was a teenager, being able to work with his mother would have been a dream come true. When he was little, he adored going to the Sunrise Bay set, where the actresses pinched his cheeks (which he didn’t like) and told him how handsome he was (which he did). And when his mother had a theatrical gig, he loved watching her prepare for her performances, her nerves strung up to a fever pitch, talking to David nonstop as she stripped off her wig and makeup to get ready for the hair and makeup team. He loved when she let him watch her do this, this peeling away of layers; he knew how few people she let see her this way, that it was a rare and intimate privilege.

And there was that time she had arranged for him to attend the premiere of one of her shows, when he was fourteen.

The play had probably been terrible; most of his mother’s plays had been, but he had sat in the front row and been dazzled by the lights and the music and the beautiful people with their thick makeup, their daring costumes and their oversized gestures.

Then, at the cast party, the actors were still high from their performance, and some of them might have been high on other things, and a few of them had fussed over him and flirted with him and called him handsome and asked if he was going to be an actor like his mother. And David had been thrilled and dazzled and a little turned on, and so, so grateful to his mother for including him. And suddenly he did want to be an actor, or a dancer, or a designer, or anything that would keep him in this world, this dazzling, wonderful world.

It was magical, while it lasted.

Then the reviews came in, and Mom had taken her bad-review pills and gone to bed. But the magic of that night stayed with him, a perfect glittering memory.

*

They had established a schedule for the rehearsals. Derrick the choreographer came two days a week, so those two days were obviously dancing days. The other three days the cast practiced the songs and rehearsed the dialogue scenes.

David was able to help out quite a bit on dancing days, because he actually knew something; he was kind of surprised how much he remembered, how easily he mastered the choreography. On singing days, though, David didn’t have as much to do.

Today, as the cast worked on songs, David was tracking several eBay auctions in his quest for costumes and props. One of them was ending in a few minutes. Right now he was the highest bidder, but he’d lost several auctions already to someone jumping in at the last minute, and it was making him edgy.

It wasn’t the only thing making him edgy. His eyes kept drifting over to Patrick, singing at the front of the room. Since it wasn’t a dancing day, Patrick didn’t have his tight t-shirt and joggers on. He was wearing another blue button down tucked into jeans. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing those delicious forearms, and his jeans fit him _very_ well. Basically, he had no right to look as good as he did, considering the whole outfit was probably off the rack from JCPenney.

Patrick was practicing “Two Ladies,” which he sang with Twyla and another Kit Kat dancer named Jade. It was obvious that he had performed before; he had an easy confidence when he sang that none of the other leads had. This number was full of double entendres and was basically about polyamory, and Patrick seemed totally comfortable up there. It was … very hot, actually.

And his voice. There was something about Patrick’s voice and the way he sang that snaked into David’s bloodstream and sent shivers down his spine.

The song ended. He watched Patrick walk over to the side of the room with Twyla and Jade. They were talking and laughing together. Stevie was wrong to think this guy could ever be interested in David. David was 99% sure he was straight. 

Maybe 87%. Ugh. God, why had Stevie put these ideas in his head?

David looked back at his phone. There was just over a minute left in the auction. He was still the highest bidder. He might actually win this one. He stared at the seconds counting down, chewing his lip.

“What’s up?” said a voice suddenly at his side. David jumped, and then looked up to see Patrick.

“Oh, I’m bidding on a headpiece for the show.” David held up his phone.

Patrick peered over his shoulder to look at the screen. “Ooh, nice.”

“It _is_ nice, and it’s perfect for Sally. The auction is about to end, and right now I’m the highest bidder.”

“So you think you’ll get it then?”

David shook his head. “Unclear. I’ve been bidding against this person”—he read it off the screen—“CabQween85, and she’s ruthless. I’ve already lost like a thousand auctions to her.”

Patrick said, “Ruthless, huh?”

“You have no idea,” David said.

Patrick said, “Who knew the world of online used clothing and accessories could be so cutthroat?”

“Okay, so, I feel like you’re laughing at me? But there’s this thing called sniping—”

“Oh, I know what sniping is. My mom sells quilts on eBay. She says the snipers are great for driving up prices.” 

“That’s actually not helpful or encouraging. So unless you have something constructive to offer, you can just run along.”

Patrick didn’t run along. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I could ask my mom for tips on bidding strategy, if you want.”

Patrick’s eyes were big and brown and they were fixed on David, giving him their full attention. No one should have eyes like that; it should not be allowed. David realized he was just staring stupidly back at him and tore his gaze away. He looked back at his phone.

“Fuck!” he said, when he saw the screen.

“CabQween85?” Patrick asked. 

David sagged back in his chair. “CabQween85.”

*

They fell into a pattern. When he wasn’t performing, Patrick would sit with David, and David would complain about all the stuff he had to do for the show and Patrick would listen and tease him and sometimes offer suggestions, and it all somehow made David feel a little less beleaguered. 

David didn’t realize how much he had come to expect this, and count on it, until one day when Patrick wasn’t there, and David was furiously annoyed with himself for how annoyed he was about it.

Patrick was back the next day, and when he came over to sit with David as usual, David said, “So, where were you yesterday?” trying to sound very chill.

“Heather asked me to stay at work late.”

“Well, you could have let me know,” David said, and then could have bitten his tongue off for how needy that sounded. He went on, “I mean, that would have been the professional thing to do.” 

Patrick nodded solemnly. “Well, being professional is very important to me,” he said. “I texted your mom. Was that not the right procedure to follow?”

“Oh,” David said. “No, of course. That’s fine, then.” 

“When you gave me your mother’s number, I assumed that was the one I should use for any show-related business.” Patrick was looking at him very earnestly. David knew Patrick was being a little fucking troll but also that David had brought this on himself.

David said, “It’s fine! She didn’t happen to mention it, that she had heard from you. That’s all.”

“Did you miss me, David?” Patrick said.

“I just need someone to listen when I complain about the show, okay?” David said. “Complaining is one of my top three favorite activities.”

Patrick blinked at him. “What are the other two, David?”

“Um,” David said. Jesus. Okay, was that—

Patrick held out his hand. “Phone,” he said, and David handed it over.

When he gave it back, David saw he had created a contact for himself.

“For complaining,” Patrick said. “Anytime.”

*

 **David:** I havent even started on the sets  
**David:** Im looking for antique furniture  
**David:** which is extremely hopeless in this cultural wasteland

 **Patrick:** you can’t build stuff?  
**Patrick:** set builders exist

 **David:** reproductions ugh  
**David:** I guess Ill have to  
**David:** But I need period pieces to establish an aesthetic 

**Patrick:** of course you do  
**Patrick:** Heather has a bunch of old junk here at the farmhouse  
**Patrick:** do you want me to ask if you can take a look

 **David:** what about me makes you think I would be interested in junk

 **Patrick:** antiques then  
**Patrick:** aesthetic for days  
**Patrick:** promise

 **David:** okay  
**David:** Im basically desperate at this point so

*

That’s how David found himself standing next to Patrick in a very dusty attic, looking at a sea of antique furniture. 

“ _This_ is a treasure trove,” David said emphatically. 

“I thought you might like it,” Patrick said. He was smiling, his mouth tucked down at the corners.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me that all of this was here?”

“Well, I did only hear yesterday that you were looking for furniture.”

David ran a finger across the top of a lounge sofa. It was dusty, but for once, David didn’t care. “You should have realized _immediately,_ ” he said. “There should have been an alert that went off in your head as soon as you saw all this.”

“I’m sorry, David.” Patrick didn’t look sorry. He looked delighted. “So, do you see anything you like? Heather said to take whatever.”

“This lounge, definitely,” David said. “These little tables too, we can use them in the Kit Kat Club set.”

Patrick said, “Okay, I’ll bring the tables down, they’re small enough for me to carry by myself. You keep poking around.”

Patrick lifted one of the tables, and if David only pretended to look at furniture while actually covertly watching those arms and shoulders in action, no one with eyes would blame him.

After Patrick left, David found some chairs and another table. He also found a trunk filled with old clothing and some jewelry. Most of it was too recent to be of any use, but at the bottom he found an Art Deco style tiara. It was in a sunset pattern, and he had just lost an auction for something very similar to this.

Some fucking progress, finally. He was already thinking about set designs that would match with these pieces.

After they loaded the furniture onto the truck, Patrick was still standing in the truck bed, while David was on the ground brushing despairingly at the front of his sweater. Patrick said, “Why would you even wear one of your favorite sweaters to look at old dusty furniture?” David was about to respond with some pointed commentary on _maintaining one’s personal brand_ when a car pulled up beside them.

A young woman got out. She was very small and impossibly cute with glasses and a pixie cut. “Patrick, hi! I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”

Patrick smiled at her, an easy, familiar smile, and David was suddenly on high alert.

Patrick said, “I’m not working, actually. Heather is letting us borrow some of her old furniture to use in Cabaret.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” the woman said. She glanced inquiringly at David.

Patrick said, “Mia, this is David. He’s the director of the show.”

“Assistant director,” David said. 

Mia smiled, a flash of straight white teeth, and said, “Nice to meet you, David. Patrick has been talking about the show a lot. I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

David wanted to ask her what Patrick had said, if he’d ever mentioned David, and if so, in exactly what ways, and in what tone of voice. Instead he said, “Well, don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing Patrick perform,” Mia said. “I know he’s been working really hard.”

Was that snippy? It sounded snippy. Snippy-adjacent, anyway. David said, “Of course—yes, Patrick will be very good. It’s the rest of the show that I’m worried about.” 

Mia said, “I love that you are getting real antiques for the sets. It will lend authenticity.”

“Well, yes,” David said. 

Patrick said from the truck, “See, David? Someone appreciates your aesthetic.”

Then Patrick did something complicated in the back of the truck with something called a bungee cord— which, ew, was that a real name of a thing?—and then he and Patrick said goodbye to Mia and got in the truck and drove away.

 _So, was that your girlfriend?_ There was nothing wrong with asking that; a friendly acquaintance could ask that. It was totally normal. But David wasn’t sure he could ask without his voice cracking or doing something else to make it weird. So instead he said, “Mia seems nice.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s the best,” Patrick said. David waited, but it seemed that was all Patrick wanted to say.

David said, “Does she want to work on costumes? Can she refinish antique furniture? That would make her the best.”

Patrick laughed. “I don’t think so. But I can ask.”

She _was_ Patrick’s girlfriend, David decided. Definitely.

Or, she wasn’t, but she soon would be. 

Or she wasn’t and would never be, but it didn’t matter, because no matter what Patrick was never going to be interested in David, and David needed to stop fucking torturing himself thinking about it. 

*

A few days later David’s mother approached him, looking way too happy for it to mean anything good for him.

“David, I have good tidings for you! Robert has informed me that Gwen is available to work on the costumes! Apparently she has done a few other productions and is quite the seamstress.”

“Um, who the fuck is Gwen?” David said.

“She’s over there.” Moira said grandly, and waved her hand at a middle-aged woman by the door.

David looked over at the woman, who was staring at him intently. With a jolt David recognized her as the person who had been so rude to him at Christmas World.

 _“That’s_ Gwen?”

“Yes. And she is going to help you, so you will have all the assistance you require.”

“Um, I’m actually pretty sure she hates me.”

His mother shook her head. “Are there no limits to your paranoia, David? You were complaining about not having help, and now, help has arrived!”

“Fine,” David said. He did need help. He walked over to Gwen, whose stony expression did not change as he approached.

“Hello, uh, Gwen,” David said.

“I usually _design_ the costumes,” Gwen said.

“Oh?”

She folded her arms and fixed him a level stare. “Moira said you were looking for someone who could sew, but I can do a lot more than that. I’m a designer.”

“Okay?” David said. “But we need someone to sew. That’s what I’m looking for. So are you still interested, or not?” 

“Where are the designs?” Gwen said.

“I have some ideas here,” David said. He went to his bag to get the drawings he had made. He came back and handed them to Gwen.

She paged through them. Her expression didn’t change.

“They need to be sexier,” she said.

“Excuse me?” he said, taking—okay, snatching—them back.

“More boobs and legs,” she said. “Is it the Kit Kat club or the Kit Kat convent?” She gave a bark of laughter at her own joke.

David stood in offended silence. Really, it was too much.

She cast him a sidelong glance. “But I can help you, David.”

David thought rapidly. The trouble was, he did need her, or someone else who could sew. He was still hoping to find some vintage clothing, but even if he found some, they would have to be altered. And some things would have to be sewn from scratch.

“Well,” he said finally. “I could use your help. I’ve been trying to find period style stuff online, but apparently there is a huge demand for 1920’s and 30’s fashion right now.”

“Oh, is there?” Gwen said. 

There was a knowing tone to her voice that made David look at her more closely. “Why do you say it like that?”

Gwen’s face split into a grin. “You are the worst bidder. No strategy at all.”

David said, “Okay, what—”

Gwen went on, talking over him, “In fact, can’t believe you’ve ever won an auction!” 

Then David had a horrible, dawning realization. “Wait a minute. Are _you_ CabQween85?”

And Gwen laughed, an evil laugh, throwing her head back like the fucking Joker. “You should see your face!” she said.

What the _fuck?_ How was this his life? 

Suddenly Patrick appeared at his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

David glanced at him, but his attention was focused on Gwen. His enemy. He said, “So you have all those things that I bid on? You were bidding against me, what, just for _fun?”_

“Yes,” Gwen said. 

“How did you even know it was me?”

Gwen said, “Your eBay username is MariahFan87. I put two and two together.”

Patrick snorted. David shot him a dirty look.

He said to Gwen, “So, what, you’re just _hoarding_ all this stuff? Just so I can’t have it?”

“Oh, no. You can have it.”

David said, “I can?”

“For a price.”

“You’re holding them for _ransom?_ ” David could hear his voice climbing higher and higher. “What _price?”_ Patrick stepped a little closer to him, which David found oddly comforting in a way he did not want to analyze right now.

Gwen said, “I want a costume designer credit and my picture in the program.”

David could only stare at her open-mouthed. 

“Think about it, David.” Gwen said. She gave him one last meaningful look, and then sauntered away. 

Seriously, what the _fuck?_

Patrick was shaking his head. He said, “Damn. Plot twist.” 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” David said, rubbing his temples. He could feel a stress headache coming on.

“Well, at least you’ll get the stuff after all. That’s good, right?” Patrick said.

“I don’t have it yet,” David said darkly. “Who knows what else I’ll have to pay her before she’ll give up her stash. Blackmailers don’t give up, you know. They just keep coming back until they’ve sucked you dry.”

Patrick said, “Maybe we should do a heist, Ocean’s 11 style? Break in to her house and steal everything back?”

“You think this is funny? I’m being stalked and blackmailed!” 

“I think, technically, it would be extortion.” At David’s look, Patrick said, “Okay, not the point.”

David said, “This affects you too, you know! Just wait until you have to wear a plastic garbage bag on stage.”

Patrick pressed his lips together, obviously trying to hold back his smile. “You’re right, David, I’m sorry.”

“What am I going to do?” David said. “The show is three months away, and the only thing I have for costumes is one fucking tiara.”

“We could take turns wearing it?” Patrick said. 

“Not helpful, Patrick!” David said. He rubbed his temples some more. 

__

The tiara. That gave David an idea. “Wait a minute,” he said. He went over to the dressing room, where they’d put the things they got from Heather’s attic. Patrick followed him.

“What is it?” Patrick said. 

David picked up the tiara and said, “We might not need to go Ocean’s 11 on Gwen.”

“Um, you do know I was joking about that, right?”

“We’re going to bluff her!”

“How?”

“With this.” David held up the tiara. “We’re going to pretend we found this great stash of 1920’s fashions and we don’t need her stuff at all!”

“Wow,” Patrick said. “So Machiavellian.”

David paused. Was that a disapproving note in Patrick’s voice? That’s right, Patrick was _nice,_ wasn’t he? He wouldn’t go along with lying or plotting or deceiving someone. He probably felt sorry for Gwen, even if—

“So how do we do it?” Patrick asked, and his eyes were gleaming. 

Of course, Patrick was a little troll. That was good, one of his best qualities. 

“I’m not sure,” David said. “But I know someone who can help.” 

*

“The only way to defeat a blackmailer is to beat them at their own game,” Alexis said.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” David said.

He and Patrick and Alexis were in a booth at the cafe. Plotting.

David was sitting next to Patrick, and Alexis was across from him. David was trying very hard not to notice Patrick’s forearm resting so casually on the table next to his, his jean-clad thigh lined up right alongside David's.

“Well, you’ve done the right thing by asking me,” Alexis said. “I negotiated with, like, sixty different blackmailers for Prince Harry before he met Meghan. He even had me on retainer for awhile.”

David said, “Here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking about this. Gwen wants costume designer credit, right? The only person who can give her that credit is me. But I can find someone else to work on costumes if I look hard enough.”

Of course he hadn’t had much luck with that so far, but David was trying not to remember that right now.

Patrick nodded. “So you tell her that you’ve found another stash, and also someone else to help you?”

“Um, actually,” Alexis said, “David is literally, like, the worst liar, so we need to keep the lying to a minimum.”

“Excuse me,” David said, “I am not a bad liar.”

“That’s so cute that you think that,” Alexis said. And then she _booped_ him. Right in front of Patrick. He batted her hand away.

"Stop it!” David said. “So I go to her and say, I don’t need you anymore—”

“No,” Alexis interrupted. “You need her to come to _you_. Think about it. She’s all jumpy right now because she just gave you this big ultimatum. She’s waiting for _you_ to respond, so if you don’t do anything, it will drive her crazy.”

David said, “I don't know if I can wait that long, Alexis. I really need to get moving on this. And it is very stressful having this hanging over my head—”

“Unngh, David!” Alexis said. “I knew you were the weak link!”

David glared at her. “I am not the weak link! I’m Machiavelli!”

Alexis scrunched up her face like she wanted to boop him again. David looked at Patrick and he looked like he was trying not to smile. David said, “Can I remind both of you that this was _my_ idea? I can be Machiavelli!”

“Of course you can,” Patrick said. Alexis scoffed. Patrick went on, “Or, you can always do plan B.”

“What’s plan B?” David said.

“You said it yourself. You get someone else to sew the costumes.”

Now Alexis was looking at Patrick like she thought maybe _he_ was the weak link. “Do you want Gwen to win?” she said.

Patrick held up his hands. “I’m just bringing it up as a possibility. And Gwen doesn’t _win._ You’re just not playing her game."

“That’s true,” David said. “But then we don’t get any of the stuff she stole from me.”

“It wasn’t really stolen—okay, David. But we still have three months before the show, right? How long until you have to get the costumes started?”

David chewed on his lower lip. “I have a little time.”

Patrick said, “So how about we give Gwen a week, and if she doesn’t come around, we go to plan B.”

David looked at Alexis, and she nodded once, regally, her hands steepled like some kind of supervillain.

A week. Okay, David could do this.

*

“I can’t do this,” David said to Patrick. “I think I’m going to have a panic attack.”

It was after rehearsal. It had been two days since David had decided to wait Gwen out, and he had heard nothing. No contact from her.

“David,” Patrick began.

David went on, “I’ve had them before, you know.” He waved his hands around. “This stress is really not good for me. Ugh, Alexis was right, I am the weak link.”

“You’re not the weak link. And you always have plan B, right?” 

“Plan B, right,” David said, nodding to himself. “Plan B.”

Patrick’s expression changed. He was looking over David’s shoulder. “Oh, here we go,” he said.

David wheeled around. It was Gwen.

“Have you thought about what I said?” she said without any preamble.

“I have thought about what you said,” David said. “And you know what? What you said sucks.”

“Easy,” Patrick murmured.

David pointed at her. “Why would I hire you for the show, when you’ve proven you don’t have the best interest of the show in mind?” He looked at Patrick. “Where’s the tiara?” 

Patrick knelt so he could unzip the bag. He took out the tiara and stood up.

Okay, so now David had to lie, he had to try to bluff. “So what I have here—” he began.

“Okay, fine,” Gwen said abruptly. “You can have the eBay stuff.”

David wondered if he’d heard that right. “Um. I can?” 

Gwen nodded. 

Well, this was unexpected. David didn’t know what to do next. What do you do when you defeat a potential blackmailer? He thought back to the movies he’d seen. He needed to deliver some kind of one-liner and then stride off. Something like, _Think twice before you mess with the likes of me._ Or, _Big mistake, Gwen, huge._

“I just wanted to be part of the show!” Gwen said. Her voice had changed, sounding almost pleading. “After _Hair,_ Jocelyn doesn’t let me help with costume design anymore. She says I’m a diva.”

“Oh, what could have given her that impression, do you think?” David said.

“But I’m _good_ at this, David. Look.” 

Gwen had a bag with her. She dug into it and took out a small flat box. She opened it and took out a dress, unfolding it reverently. It was delicate and lacy and looked like a little nightgown. She held it out to David.

He took it and held it up by its thin straps. “This is … my design.”

Gwen nodded eagerly. “Yes, I sewed it. I wanted to show you.”

David ran the fabric between his fingers. “Is this voile?”

“Yes,” Gwen said.

David held up the dress again. This was the first time he had designed something that was now a real thing in the world. It looked good. It looked right. 

Gwen had sewn this from memory, using a correct 1920’s fabric, after looking at his sketch for about ten seconds.

Patrick said. “You designed that, David? Can I see?”

David handed it over. Patrick gave David the tiara to hold and so he could run the dress through his fingers like David had done, and seeing Patrick’s hands twining in the supple fabric was, uh, doing things to David.

“It’s beautiful,” Patrick said. He glanced up at David. “I’m impressed,” he said. 

“Thank you,” David said softly.

“Nice, huh?” Gwen said eagerly. “Although I still think you should show more boobs and legs. It’s the Kit Kat Club, not the Kit Kat—”

David gave her a look, and she fell silent.

Then she said, almost shyly, “If you don’t like it, it’s fine, but look.” She took out a second dress, the same as the first, but shorter and cut lower in the neckline.

David looked at it. _More boobs and legs._ He pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said. “Maybe we can see what they look like on.”

David called over to where the rest of the cast was still milling around. “Alexis, Twyla, come over here for a second.”

Alexis and Twyla came over. Alexis’s eyes darted back and forth between Gwen and David, her eyes bright with interest. “So, David, how is it going—”

David interrupted, “I have some costumes for you to try on.”

They handed the dresses over and Twyla and Alexis held them up by the straps. Alexis squealed, “Oh my God, David, this is actually cute.”

“Um, you don’t have to sound so surprised, thanks,” David said. “There’s a room over there you can use to change.”

Alexis and Twyla turned to go. Gwen dug into her bag again and brought out two pairs of shoes, 1920’s-style dance shoes that David recognized. He had bid on them last week, and lost to CabQween85. Gwen looked a little abashed when she saw him noticing, but then she lifted her chin.

She snatched the tiara out of David’s hands. “This will look nice too.” She turned to follow Twyla and Alexis. 

“The worst bidder,” she said over her shoulder. She turned around and walked backwards. “No strategy at all,” she said. “I’ve also got a headpiece that will be perfect. I’ll bring it tomorrow!” Then she turned and jogged after Alexis and Twyla into the dressing room.

Patrick didn’t laugh, but David felt his amusement.

“Shut up,” David said.

“I didn’t say a word,” Patrick protested.

“Your thoughts are loud,” David retorted. “I can hear them.”

“So are you going to let Gwen help out?” Patrick said.

“Maybe,” David said.

“And give her a costume design credit?”

“Hm.”

“And her picture in the program?”

“I’m going to think about it.”

Patrick murmured, “Who knew Machiavelli could be such a sweetheart?"

David said, “Okay. I’m pretty sure this is the worst decision of my life, so maybe could you not rub it in?”

Patrick said, “Oh, I think you can handle her.”

David bit back a smile. “Maybe,” he said. Patrick was looking at him and he looked so fucking _happy,_ like this thing with Gwen had been engineered just so they could share a joke about it. Like they were in this together. 

And David liked him. He liked him _so much_.

It was a problem. A big, big problem.


	4. Song and dance man

David and Moira were arguing again. Patrick could see them in the back of the rehearsal space. Moira’s voice was rising and David’s arms were slicing through the air with emphatic gestures. 

It was a dancing day, and Patrick and Stevie were practicing the “Money” number with Derrick. They were in the very, very early stages, moving slowly, almost walking through the steps. That should have been easy, but this number was really complicated and dancing was really not Patrick’s strong suit. It required all his concentration, so he couldn’t try to listen to what David and his mother were arguing about.

Moira was a good director. She definitely knew about show business, knew about performance and about all the little things that took a song or a scene from good to great. She was a professional, from the tips of her feathered headdresses to the bottoms of her six-inch heels, and she inspired them all to try harder, to be better, to practice more, to dig deeper. They all wanted to do well, because they wanted to impress Moira.

She also got away with things, things that other people couldn’t, because of her outsize personality and her extravagant attire and the wisps of fame that still clung to her.

David was different. He had an outsize personality too; he took up space in the world the way she did. But unlike her, he didn’t get away with things, people didn’t say, _oh, well, that’s just David_ the way they said _that’s just Moira_ about Mrs. Rose. Instead people constantly ran to him for help; asked him to run interference for them with Moira, loaded task after task onto him and laughed at or dismissed his protests and complaints. 

When Moira said _soften the edges_ it was David who helped translate what that meant. When she demanded German language classes for the entire cast, David talked her down to some light accent coaching, and then only for a few parts. When she interrupted Stevie’s “Mein Herr” number to tell her _dance like an Indonesian scarf caught in the wind_ and Derrick was ready to strangle Moira with a scarf (Indonesian or otherwise), David helped figure out what Moria was trying to say.

In fact, the cast seemed to have collectively decided that Moira was there to be placated and deferred to, while David was there to handle Moira and take on the tasks no one else wanted.

And no one seemed to treat David that way more than Moira Rose.

Patrick didn’t like it. 

“What are you doing?” Stevie’s voice hissed into his thoughts. “This is the dance where you’re going to lift me, so you’d better fucking pay attention.”

They weren’t working on the lift today, but he took her point. He paid attention.

When Derrick gave them a break, Patrick looked around the rehearsal hall. Moira was there, but he didn’t see David. 

Stevie said, “Looking for someone?” 

His eyes came back to her face. She was looking at him blandly, her eyebrows raised, a ghost of a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth. He had a feeling she saw a lot more than he wanted her to.

He liked Stevie a lot, and they had bonded over their shared terror about dancing. But he had no idea how she would feel about him being interested in David.

He knew now that she and David were _not_ dating, but that they had in the past. He’d found out from Alexis. When Alexis had found out he was working on Heather’s farm, she said, “Oh, Heather is nice. She is _so_ nice.”

“Yes, she is.”

“I mean, I’ve only talked to her on the phone. She used to call the vet clinic _all the time_ when I worked there. And I am just, _so happy_ for Ted, that he’s found someone.” Her eyes got very big and she clutched her hands up under her chin. She sounded very … intense.

Alexis saw his confused look. “Ted’s my ex,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“No worries.” She tapped his arm with a little smile. “I’m growing so much, Patrick. I’ve never been friends with my exes before. And Ted and I are, like, _such_ good friends now. Good friends who used to date. Like David and Stevie.”

Patrick’s heart jumped. “Oh, did David and Stevie—”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, but they are just friends now. They were able to just,” she made a sweeping motion with her hands, “put all that aside, and stay friends.” She scrunched up her face. “Which is actually kind of surprising, really. For both of them.”

*

“So you really like this guy then?” Mia said. “David, the one I met?”

Patrick and Mia were in his apartment, in his kitchen. He got two beers from the fridge and popped off the tops. He handed her one.

“Yeah,” he said, though _like_ didn’t seem adequate to describe what he was feeling.

“So are you going to do something about it?”

“I’ve never gone on a real date with a guy,” he said. “Just that blind date with Ken, and you know what happened then.” They went to the living room and sat down on the couch together. 

“You talked about goats all night,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, you know I think you should get back on the app. Get back out there.” She was on Bumpkin, set to _Women seeking Women_ and _Looking for a relationship,_ and she’d gone on six dates. She’d come home and text Patrick about them. _Didn’t laugh at my jokes. Way too into Crossfit. Collects Precious Moments figurines._

“I know,” he said. 

She punched his arm. “It’s good for us gay newbies. Besides, you were on it before.”

“I was, but that was for—”

“Sex? That’s fine if that’s what you’re looking for. But didn’t you try to get one of your hookups to go on a date with you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick mumbled. He was still getting used to her bluntness. He liked it, though. It made him feel like he could say anything, which is a feeling he’d never had before. 

“Going on dates is good practice,” she said. “You can practice _not_ talking about goats. Which _some_ people know going in, but _other_ people have to learn the hard way.”

“You know, I’m kind of wishing I’d never told you that story.”

“But, you should ask David out too. I liked him, and, more importantly, you like him.”

There was a corner sticking up on the label on his beer. Patrick got his thumbnail under it and started gently peeling it off, trying to keep it all in one piece. “It’s just that I don’t know if he’s—if he’s into men. I know for a fact he dated a woman in the past.”

“I know this is crazy, but you could ask,” Mia said.

He pulled at the label. It was lifting up beautifully. “Ask him if he’s into men, _and_ ask him on a date? That’s twice as terrifying.”

“Well, if you ask him out, you’re kind of implicitly asking him if he’s into men,” Mia said. “You being a man and all.”

“I like knowing what I’m doing,” he said. The label ripped, half of it coming off in his hand, the other half still on the bottle. “Ugh,” he said.

“Think of it this way, if he says no because he’s not into men, it’s not personal, right?”

He took a swig of his beer, thinking about that. It still seemed terrifying, to just ask David out, blindly, without knowing … anything. “Are you sure there isn’t an easier way to find out? A secret gay handshake, or maybe a wink or something?” He winked.

Mia laughed. “You’re not ready for the secret handshake, Brewer. And, please never try to use that wink to pick anyone up."

*

The next day, Patrick found out what David and his mother had been arguing about.

They were sitting together as usual, when David asked, “So, um, I might have a favor to ask you. Do you still have that truck?”

“The truck I had two weeks ago? Yes, it’s lying around somewhere. I can probably find it,” Patrick said.

“Mm, funny,” David said. “So, my mother has commissioned some benches for the sets, which she did without consulting me at all, and now she is sending me to go pick them up.”

“Oh, is that what—”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I noticed you two were, uh, having a disagreement yesterday.”

David put his hands up. “Can I just say it is very difficult to control an aesthetic for the show when I am being sabotaged at every turn.”

“At least your mom isn’t blackmailing you,” Patrick said.

“That’s probably next,” David muttered.

“Anyway, yes, I can take you to get the benches,” Patrick said, trying not to sound as eager as he felt.

They drove over after rehearsal. When they got to the woodworking studio, there were two benches sitting in front of the showroom. “These must be the ones,” Patrick said. “What do you think?”

David squinted at them. “Well, they’re not as hideous as I expected,” he said.

A guy came out to greet them. He was tall and extremely handsome, like cover-of-a-magazine handsome. Patrick said, “Hi, we’re here to pick up—”

But the guy was looking past him, his attention riveted on David. “David!” he said. He walked past Patrick and kissed David on the lips. “You look good.”

So.

Patrick looked from one to the other.

David said, “Uh, what are you doing here? This isn’t where you work.”

“Had to move to a bigger workshop,” the guy said. “Business is booming, you know how it is.”

“Do I?” David said. Apparently he was not going to introduce Patrick. Probably had forgotten his existence.

The guy said, “I didn’t know you were part of this production too. Cabaret, right? Stevie didn’t mention it."

“Oh, so, you’ve seen Stevie, recently?” David said. There was something in David’s voice, a too-casual note, that made Patrick suddenly alert.

“Yeah,” the guy said easily. “After we all broke up, Stevie stopped by to make things official, and it just didn’t stick.”

After _we all_ broke up?

“Mm, no, it didn’t stick, did it?” David said.

“We should get going, David,” Patrick said. Was his voice loud? That sounded loud. He walked to the end of one of the benches. “Can you take the other end?”

“Oh, I’ll load them up for you,” the guy said, still as pleasant as could be.

David stepped back immediately, but Patrick found he wanted to argue. He wanted to push in front of the guy, say _I’ve got this._ He wanted to go off on some he-man contest with this guy, who was much taller and fitter than him, and who could carry long wooden benches with one hand. 

Okay, so the guy was using two hands, but it _felt_ like he was doing it with one hand. _In spirit,_ the guy was spinning the bench on one finger as he walked to the truck, chatting amiably with David, while Patrick trailed along uselessly.

What was wrong with him? 

Oh. He was jealous.

He’d never been jealous before. So this is what it felt like. It sucked.

The guy loaded up both benches. He pressed the truck bed closed. Then he said, “So David, would you like to—”

“Oh, I don’t, no,” David interrupted, shaking his head. He glanced at Patrick. The guy looked over at Patrick too, seeming to see him for the first time. He gave him a quick once over, and then pointed between them and continued, with a new note in his voice, “Or maybe both of—”

Patrick raised his eyebrows as David said “Nope,” very loudly. “No, thank you.”

The guy nodded. He looked disappointed. “You do you,” he said. 

David turned away, but Patrick was still processing what had just happened. Was that …?

“Patrick!” David said as he opened the passenger door of the truck.

“Right,” Patrick said. He said to the guy, “Good to meet you—” and then he realized he’d never gotten his name, “—man.”

He walked over and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Friend of yours?” Patrick said after they’d pulled out of the lot.

“Oh, no,” David said. “I mean, I guess we, um—”

“Dated?” Patrick hazarded.

“Yeah. And um, what he said, about Stevie, that wasn’t, I mean—” David broke off and made a complicated gesture with his hands, as though trying to convey what _that_ wasn’t.

Patrick said, “You don’t have to explain,” because that was the polite thing to say, but then he could have kicked himself, because he really, really wanted David to explain. 

David shook out his hands. "Ugh, so awkward,” he said. Then he started talking about the benches again, and how he thought he could use them in the sets, but for the first time Patrick had a hard time focusing on what David was saying.

Patrick told himself he should be happy. He’d found out that David did date guys.

Tall, gorgeous, guys who looked like sex on a stick.

Shit.

*

A couple more weeks went by. He didn’t ask David out.

But it wasn’t that he was scared to do it or anything. He wasn’t _intimidated_ by the fact that David had a rich dating history that included a possible three-way dating situation with two gorgeous people. 

There were just a lot of things going on in his life right now. For one thing, he needed to figure out what he was doing with his job. His farm job was going to end soon, and he didn’t have any idea what he was going to do when it ended.

Back home he had worked as a junior accountant for a seed company, which was the biggest employer in his small town. He never really liked it. He had enjoyed business school and he thought there were probably other jobs in business or finance that he would enjoy, he just didn’t know what. 

He got on his laptop and looked at job openings in the area. Bob’s Garage was looking for a car salesman. Christmas World was hiring a business office manager. Another ad just said “Business Assistant. Great Opportunity, Call for Details!!!” Which struck him as very sketchy. He bookmarked it anyway.

He updated his resume and applied for the Christmas World position through the online portal. He didn’t know when he’d have time to schedule an interview, but he didn’t want to miss his chance for the only vaguely viable sounding job in the area.

When the show was over, he promised himself, he’d devote a lot more time to job searching and figuring out what he wanted to do. Right now, with the show going on, he didn’t have much time. Since he was one of the leads, he had a lot of lines to memorize and songs to learn. That wasn’t a problem. The problem was the dancing.

Patrick knew dancing was not his strong suit. He had been in lots of musicals in high school and college; he knew he was a good singer and actor, but he had always had to fake his way through the dancing part. In a high school show, that was usually enough.

But this show was Cabaret, and his part was the emcee, which was really more of a showman/dancing part than a singing part. Sometimes he felt like he’d been hopelessly miscast, but he didn’t deceive himself that anyone else in the current cast would do any better. Moira and David were stuck with him.

*

The next day, Derrick was leading Patrick and the Kit Kat girls through the opening number, while David stood by, on hand to provide feedback or pull someone aside to work one on one. Whenever he did this, David gave whoever he was working with such close, focused attention, his gaze intent and serious, and Patrick wondered what it would be like to have David focus on him like that.

Sometimes, he thought David was watching him. Patrick would glance over and see David looking at him, at Patrick’s shoulders or his legs or maybe his ass. Maybe. But then, Patrick reminded himself, that was David’s job. He was supposed to be watching him, watching all the dancers.

Patrick was struggling today. It was the first time they were going through the opening number at close to the speed of the real performance. He stumbled and stumbled again in the same segment. Moira kept calling out, “Feel the lightness in your limbs!” which was not helpful. 

He hated this. He hated failing; he hated trying so hard and still failing, especially in front of David. He started missing steps he already knew. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he kept saying.

Finally Derrick said, “Why don’t we stop there for today?”

 _Thank God,_ Patrick thought, but he knew it was only a reprieve. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“No worries,” Derrick said. “There’s some intricate footwork there. You’re doing great with the lift. Good upper body strength.” He put a hand on Patrick’s arm.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Patrick felt a little better. There was one part of this number where he had to lift Jade, one of the Kit Kat girls, and he didn’t have trouble with that at all. His summer of lifting hay bales was good for something.

“I think you could use a little extra time with this, though,” Derrick said.

“I know,” Patrick said. 

Suddenly Moira was there. “Patrick, you may need a bit of extra assistance with this number.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Mrs. Rose.”

Derrick squeezed his arm and said to Moira, “Yes, I was just saying—”

“David!” Moira called.

David looked over from where he was talking to Jade. “What?” he called back, his tongue hitting the T with extra emphasis, like he did when he was annoyed.

“David, could you spare some time to work with our Patrick after rehearsal? He could use a smidgen of your assistance.” 

David’s gaze slid over to Patrick. His eyes seem to catch on Derrick’s hand on his arm.

Derrick said, “Oh, actually, Moira, I was just going to offer—”

Moira said, “Nonsense, young man! David can assist Patrick. You have such a myriad of responsibilities already.”

Patrick expected David to say, _And I don’t?_ but he just said, “Um, sure, I have time.”

Derrick dropped his hand from Patrick’s arm. He seemed amused at Moira’s highhandedness. “All right, then,” he said. He turned to the rest of the actors and clapped his hands. “That’s it for today,” he announced. 

“Excellent,” Moira said. Then, to Patrick, “David did wonders with Bob on his one-on-one with him.”

Patrick didn’t know whether he was thrilled or terrified. Or both. It was both.

It was the right thing to do _for the show,_ he told himself. He obviously needed help, and David was going to help him, just like he helped Bob. As far as David was concerned, Patrick was just another Bob. He could handle this.

People started filing out. Patrick looked over at David, still talking to Jade. As Patrick watched, David demonstrated a dance move for her. Patrick’s breath caught as he watched him. He loved the way David moved, the elegant lines of his body, his long legs and strong thighs, the graceful arc of his arm moving through the air.

Then Jade’s girlfriend Didi came in to pick her up. David said something that made Didi laugh, and then the two women went out together.

Everyone was gone. He and David were alone.

You’re just another Bob to him, he told himself. Focus. 

“Thank you for helping me,” Patrick said. “Your mom kind of put you on the spot.”

David waved that off. “It’s fine,” he said. “Ready to get started?”

Patrick nodded, and David pressed play to start the song.

Patrick went through the beginning of the number, muttering the words to himself. He sensed David watching him, following him with his eyes, watching his body as he moved, and he felt tingly all over.

He stumbled again in the same place he had at rehearsal, and David said, “It’s okay, just keep going,” so Patrick picked it up at the next _Willkommen_ and kept going. When he got to the hip thrusts he just powered through them, he had that part down at least, thank God, because asking David for help with his thrusting was, well, it was—

Thinking about David and thrusting made him lose focus again. He stumbled, groaned in frustration, but kept going this time. When the song was over he stopped, breathing rapidly, staring at the floor.

It was quiet. David was quiet. Patrick felt acutely self-conscious. 

“Okay,” David said. “Now let’s do it again, just that one segment, where you’re having trouble.” He started the song again, and watched intently as Patrick tried it again.

David stopped the song and came over next to Patrick.

“I think you’re having trouble because you’re overbalancing on the pivot, and that makes it harder to get into the next step. Try swinging more from your hip when you move and keep your body more upright.” He demonstrated.

Patrick tried it. “Like this?”

“No, like—” David put his hands lightly on Patrick’s hips, and guided him through the steps. Patrick felt his body move and meld into the position David wanted.

“That’s it,” David said.

David dropped his hands and stepped back, and Patrick tried again, but he stumbled again in the same place. He groaned. “Can we take a break for a minute?” he said.

“Sure, of course,” David said.

They both reached for their water bottles. Patrick took a drink and said quietly, “Sometimes I think I don’t have what it takes to play this part.”

Patrick knew the part of the emcee was a queer icon. He’d watched YouTube videos of people like Alan Cumming, who had played the part with such androgynous verve. It was intimidating. Patrick was a gay man, of course, but he didn’t think that gave him any special insight into this part. He’d come out so recently, and he knew he looked like any other boring straight guy. How much better suited someone like David was to play this part, with his long legs, his lean, elegant body, his intoxicating blend of masculine and feminine.

David said, “You’ll get the steps.” 

“I don’t mean just the steps. I’m not—”

“What?”

“I’m not—elegant.” That wasn’t exactly the right word, but it would have to do.

“Listen,” David said. “You bring your own style to it. Don’t try to be what you’re not. Plenty of dancers have a more athletic style. Look at Gene Kelly.”

“Okay, I am not Gene Kelly either,” Patrick said. But that was an interesting thought. Could Gene Kelly play the emcee? He could, Patrick realized. A Gene Kelly version of the emcee would be … cheeky. Confident, maybe a bit arrogant. Cocky. Maybe Patrick could try that. He felt a little better.

But first he had to master these damn steps.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. 

Focus.

David started the song and this time he did the steps with Patrick. Two steps to the side, one forward, pivot, two longer steps.

They went through it once. Patrick felt he was getting closer. He took a breath and said, glancing over his shoulder at David, “It helped when you put your hands—” he said, and David said “Oh,” and put his hands where they were before, lightly on his hips.

David’s hands felt so natural, so right, resting lightly on him. David was so close to him, tantalizingly close.

 _Focus, Patrick_. 

They did the sequence again, and again, and again. On the fifth run-through, suddenly it clicked for Patrick; the dance went from a series of separate movements to a cohesive whole. “I got it,” he said breathlessly.

“You did, you do, keep going,” David said, keeping his hands on Patrick, guiding him, strong and sure.

When the song ended, Patrick was elated. “I did it, I did it,” he said. He turned toward David, looking up at him. 

David’s hands were still on Patrick’s hips, his arms bracketing his body, his face inches away. Patrick felt hot and flushed all over; he could feel the heat of David’s body, so close to him; could smell him, his sweat mixing with a woodsy scent, spicy and intoxicating; he could feel David was breathing hard too, his chest rising and falling. Patrick’s eyes fell to David’s mouth, his beautiful mouth, his lips soft and parted.

Patrick’s gaze flickered up and he saw David’s eyes on his. A zing went straight to his cock. The moment stretched out. He felt himself swaying—

David dropped his arms and stepped back. “I should go,” he said, clearing his throat, turning away.

Patrick could feel his face reddening even more. “Okay,” he said. He turned away quickly and knelt down to gather his things. He had a bit of a situation going on that the soft material of his joggers was doing nothing to hide.

“I mean, it’s late,” David said.

“Of course,” Patrick said. Trying not to be too obvious, he took a few deep breaths as he slowly put his things back in his bag, willing his dick to calm down.

When he thought it was safe, he stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder. “Well, thanks,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “That was a big help, I really appreciate—” 

“Yep, yep,” David said, not looking at him. “No problem at all.” 

Patrick got out of there as fast as possible.

*

He called Mia when he got home.

He said, “So I completely embarrassed myself and I can’t believe I have to go back to rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Mia said. “I don’t know if you can be so sure he’s thinking what you think he’s thinking.”

“It was pretty obvious,” he said. He thought of his boner, his awful, humiliating boner that David may or may not have noticed. He prayed he hadn’t.

“Well, you might be jumping to conclusions, is all I’m saying.”

Patrick said, “He is a talented, gorgeous man who wears designer clothes and dates guys who look like models. He is not into me.”

“Okay, Patrick,” she said, and her voice was soft, sympathetic. “Well, do what you want, but you know what my opinion is.”

“Yeah,” he said. He felt calmer. “Thanks, Mia.”

“And you know I also think—”

“I know. Go on some dates. Get back out there. I’ll think about it.”

*

The next day, when Patrick got to rehearsal, he looked David right in the eye and said “Hi, David.” He wanted David to know that everything was normal. Everything _was_ normal. David nodded back.

It was another dance day, and they were working on the opening number again. Acutely conscious of David standing by, Patrick did it right, the first time through.

Derrick told him, “You’ve got it now, Patrick! I can see you’ve really worked hard on this.”

“Thank you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “David helped me a lot yesterday.”

That was good. That sounded normal. He gestured over at where David had been, but then saw that he wasn’t there. He forced himself not to look around to see where he had gone. He brought his eyes back to Derrick’s face. 

“That’s great. Hey,” Derrick said, “I’d love to take you out this weekend. You know, dinner and a movie.”

Patrick stared at him. His first thought was that Mia was right. Even if you didn’t know what someone’s preferences were, you could just … ask them out. Unreal. God, she was going to rub it in.

Derrick said, “I mean, if you’re not interested in men, or you don’t want to, it’s totally fine. No pressure.”

Patrick gathered his scattered wits. He had never thought about Derrick that way; he’d been too preoccupied with David. But—Derrick was a good looking guy, and apparently he was interested in Patrick. _Get back out there._

He cleared his throat. “No, I am—interested in men. Actually. And I’ll go. I’ll go out with you.”

*

Derrick was a good conversationalist. He knew a lot about art and dance. He taught dance and exercise classes in Elmdale and appeared in professional productions. 

Patrick did not talk about goats.

At the end of the date, Derrick drove him back to his house, walked him to his door like a gentleman, and kissed him. Patrick kissed him back and tried not to think about David. 

Patrick didn’t invite him in. But he was glad he had gone on the date.

As he went inside, he thought back again to that moment with David, felt again the electricity of David’s hands on him, the magnetic pull that had made him lean in. He wondered, again, how obvious he had been.

Pretty damn obvious, he thought.

And David had stepped back. Could he have made it any clearer that he wasn’t interested? 

Patrick picked up his phone. He re-downloaded Bumpkin. He set his status to _Looking for a relationship._

 _Get back out there,_ Mia had said. 

He was getting back out there. He was moving on.


	5. Unfinished business

Stevie said, “I think Patrick and Derrick are dating.”

He and Stevie were sitting in the cafe, getting ready to walk over to rehearsal. David had his caramel macchiato and Stevie had black coffee, into which she was methodically dumping packets of sugar.

“What?” David said. He shook his head decisively. “No, that’s impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?”

“Patrick is straight.”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions, David.”

“I’m not. I met a girl, who I assumed—” He broke off when Stevie raised her eyebrows. “Okay, he pretty much told me he was.”

“When?”

“The other night.” David willed his face to reveal nothing. It was hard for him to think about that night, the night of the dance lesson, Patrick in his arms, all hot and flushed and sexy, looking up at him with his bright eyes and pink lips. David had wanted to kiss him so badly; so badly that he had almost lost his head and done it, but thankfully he caught himself in time.

Stevie said, “What did he say?”

Why did Stevie keep harping on this? “He said he was nervous about playing the emcee because he wasn’t gay, or whatever.” He waved a hand.

“He said that?” 

David said, “I mean, he talked around it, but it was clear what he meant.”

“Hm. Maybe you should tell Patrick that.” She nodded out the front window.

David looked at her and then turned around to look out the window. He saw Derrick and Patrick getting out of Patrick’s truck. Derrick came bounding around to where Patrick was standing. Then, as David watched, Derrick tugged Patrick toward him and _kissed_ him. He gave him a fucking _peck_ right on the lips. 

What the _fuck._

“You were saying?” Stevie said.

Patrick and Derrick were approaching the front door of the cafe. David wheeled around. “Don’t look at them,” he hissed.

The two men came into the cafe. Patrick saw David and Stevie in their booth and gave an awkward half-wave.

“Hi, guys!” Stevie said cheerfully, while David wanted to slide down in the booth until he was under the table. Only knowing that the floor was probably a certified biohazard kept him upright and in his seat.

Patrick wheeled off to approach them while Derrick went to the counter and signaled for Twyla.

“What’s up, Patrick?” Stevie said as Patrick approached, still in that fake-cheerful voice. “Any new developments in your life?”

“Nothing much,” Patrick said. He looked sheepish. He had his hands jammed all the way in his pockets. “Just came by to grab something to drink before rehearsal.” He nodded at David. “Hi.”

“Hi,” David said, in a totally normal tone of voice.

Stevie said, “Remember we’re doing the Money number today, Patrick. I hope Derrick hasn’t been giving you any outside help, because I will be very upset if you show me up.”

“Ah, pretty sure that’s not a concern,” Patrick said. He gestured with his elbow towards the counter. “I should, uh, give Twyla my order,” he said, and turned to go.

But Derrick was coming over already with a drink in each hand. He said, “I already ordered for you! Here you go, one garden smoothie for you, one garden smoothie for me.” He held out one of the drinks for Patrick.

“Oh. A smoothie? Thanks,” Patrick said. He took it gingerly. He took a sip. “That’s, hm. What’s in this?”

Derrick said cheerfully, “I don’t know! They’re great. I order one every time I come to town. Twyla really likes to mix it up.” Derrick wheeled around and gave Twyla an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Real winner today, Twyla!”

“Thanks, Derrick!” Twyla called back. 

“Wow,” David said to Patrick. “A garden smoothie! How is it?”

“Good, huh?” Derrick said, smiling.

David waited for Patrick to say something teasing, make a joke of some kind, but he just said, “I guess if it’s called a garden smoothie, it must be healthy, right?”

“Ready to go?” Derrick said.

So then they all had to walk over together, the four of them. Patrick and Derrick in the front, Stevie and David behind them. Stevie kept _looking_ at him, but David refused to look back.

His brain was turning itself inside out.

Patrick was _not_ straight. Patrick was dating Derrick.

Patrick said something and Derrick laughed, putting his hand on Patrick’s shoulder for a moment.

This was fine. 

Nothing had changed, really. Straight or gay or bi or whatever, Patrick was not going to date David. Derrick was better for Patrick. Derrick was very nice, unlike David; he was very athletic, unlike David; in fact, he was exactly the kind of person who was good for Patrick to date. The two of them could be super nice people together, athletic people, talking about sportsball things, giving each other little pecks on the lips, touching each other’s shoulders, whatever. 

It was fine. Absolutely fine.

David looked at the smoothie Patrick was carrying. That was one thing, though. Derrick should not have bought him that. Patrick drank tea. He always drank tea. Everyone knew that. How hard was that? The answer was, it wasn’t. Tea. Not a fucking garden smoothie. Tea.

Derrick’s hand reached out again, grazing the small of Patrick’s back as they went up the steps to the rehearsal hall. David wanted to bat it away, that hand.

David’s eyes flickered up to Patrick’s face, which he could see in profile, turned to listen to what Derrick was saying. David thought of Patrick’s carefully neutral, polite expression when he had tasted the smoothie. He hadn’t teased or made a snarky remark. He hadn’t raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side and looked at Derrick with his eyes all lit up with amusement.

He didn’t have that special Patrick-look on his face. He should have that, with the person he was dating.

When they got inside, Derrick took Patrick and Stevie to work on the Money number. Derrick’s hand reached out to touch Patrick’s shoulder as he ushered them away. Did he have to do that all the fucking time? Like, we get it, you can touch Patrick’s shoulders whenever. Give it a rest.

Stevie turned to give David a sympathetic look as she walked away. Sympathy from Stevie. That was unnerving. 

Then David couldn’t think about it anymore, because a million people were claiming his attention. Jade wanted him to rehearse with her later, which he agreed to. Adam wanted to ask him what Moira meant by _immerse yourself in sexual and moral ambiguity,_ and Bob wanted to talk about the singing the Pineapple song as a solo. 

“Bob, it’s a duet. It’s a love song,” David said.

“But my character is the fruit seller, and it’s a song about pineapples,” Bob said, chuckling. “It just makes sense.”

David said, “Bob, you do understand the song is not really about the pineapple, right?”

Suddenly Gwen materialized and said, “Bob, no one cares, okay? Stop bothering David.” 

David winced, but Bob just did that little uneasy chuckle again and said, “Well, we can just—we'll talk later,” and jogged away.

Gwen said to David, “I need the design for the emcee costume,” she said. “You’ve been saying you’re going to give it to me for weeks.”

“I know.” Okay, so David had been putting off giving it to her, which was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with his design. It was based on a real design, from a real Broadway production. It was, if anything, less risqué than the original. It was just— the thought of Patrick wearing it, knowing David had designed it, made David feel strange, somehow—like Patrick would put on the costume and _know._

What would he know? He would know—something.

David thought again of the dance lesson, of that moment when Patrick had looked up at him, the feel of him, hot and electric in his arms. What if David had kissed him then? Would Patrick have kissed him back?

_Stop it._

“Well, David?” Gwen folded her arms.

“Okay, yes, I have it,” he said hastily. He opened up his bag, dug around in it, and handed over the design.

Gwen studied it, and David felt himself tensing up, waiting for her comment.

“Now this is more like it,” she said. “Good job, David. You’re learning.” She waved the design in the air. “I’ll have this ready in a couple days,” she said.

*

Gwen, David, and Patrick were all staring at Patrick’s crotch.

“They’re a bit—” Patrick said hesitantly.

“I think I need to let them out,” Gwen said.

“Um,” David said faintly.

Holy fuck. Patrick’s thighs in those tight shorts were—God. Thick and muscled and hard like tree trunks. David wanted to bite them. How would those thighs feel under his hands, or hooked over his shoulders—or pressed backwards while David—

His eyes flicked up to what was between those thighs. He bit down on his lips to stop from licking them. The crotch harness was doing its job. Jesus. It’s not that he’d never noticed that Patrick nicely filled out his very tight denim, or those damn joggers—he’d just never seen it _framed_ like this before, like a goddamn work of art.

Fuck.

David yanked his eyes up and away from the shorts, but looking at Patrick’s top half was no better; his exposed neck, that David wanted to lick, his broad shoulders, his beautiful, muscular arms, his chest, criss-crossed with the black elastic harness and covered only with the white tank top. David could see nipples through the fabric. Jesus Christ. David bit down harder on his lips.

Gwen went to Patrick and started fussing with the fabric. She pulled at the hem of the shorts to loosen the fit, but when she let go the stretchy harness just snapped it back up again. “I think I need to take them out a bit here in the thigh,” she said.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a button here?” Patrick said, his fingers at the waistband. David’s eyes caught on Patrick’s fingers trailing _inside_ the waistband. He was going to die, right here. He was going to expire from lust.

“Oh, no, it’s supposed to be like that,” Gwen said. She reached and tugged at one of the harnesses, making it lie flat. Then she went around behind him and said, “Oh, yeah, we’re going to need more room back here as well.”

At the thought of what this outfit looked like from the back, David almost groaned aloud.

“It’s based on a real design,” he said, weakly.

Patrick finally lifted his gaze. He looked right at David. His eyes were amused. “I know,” he said. “I recognize it.”

“What do you say, David? Bigger?” Gwen said, still staring at Patrick’s ass. “He needs to be able to dance in these. Or should I use a stretchier fabric?”

“No,” David said. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. “Bigger. More, ah, room. Is good.”

*

It was about a week later. David and Alexis were in their room. David was on his bed watching a very poor-quality video of the 2006 London revival of Cabaret, looking for ideas. They’d used a _cage_ in their set design, and David was speculating about where he could find a cage around here, which was taking his mind to some dark places. 

Alexis was studying, or pretending to. 

His mother came in and said, “Ah, David, there you are. We need to start thinking about finding someone to handle our publicity."

“Um, hello?” Alexis said. She pointed at herself. “Public relations major here.”

His mother laughed a little tinkling laugh. Then, when Alexis gave her an indignant look, said, “Oh, dear, you’re serious. Alexis, you have not yet finished your program. David and I simply can’t place our bébé in the hands of an amateur, no matter how skilled. We require the services of an expert, is that not so, David?”

David said, “Okay, first, please never refer to the show as ‘our bébé’ again. And we’re not going to get an expert on our budget.”

Alexis said, “Excuse me, I think I can handle doing publicity for one community theater production. I once dated the publicist for Reese Witherspoon’s publicist.”

His mother looked like she was trying not to react, which was so unlike her it was painful to watch. She said, “David?”

“What?” he said.

“Can we converse in private?”

“About what?” he said, burying his face in his phone. 

He could feel his mother staring at him. Then she said grandly, giving each syllable its full due, “Well, in addition to placing ourselves in your capable hands, Alexis, I will endeavor to make some simple inquiries to procure you some assistance!”

She sailed out of the room.

Alexis widened her eyes in exasperation. She flapped her hand at the door their mother had just gone through. “Did you just see that?”

David said, “Welcome to my world.”

“Can you talk to her, David?”

“No,” David said. “I am staying out of this. I am not going to settle any more arguments. I have my own problems to worry about. You and Mom can figure this out yourselves.”

“Ugh, fine!” Alexis picked her textbook back up with a little jerk.

David tried to go back to his video, but now it was hard to focus on it, with Alexis having _feelings_ at him from the next bed. God, he wished he _could_ find a cage around here. Then he could crawl into it, and never come out. 

He said, “You know, she’s not going to find anyone else.”

“Not the point, David,” Alexis snapped.

“I know,” he said.

*

David wondered where his mother had gone off to, what “procuring some assistance” for Alexis looked like, and how much trouble this was going to cause him before she realized she had no choice but to accept Alexis’s offer. He was still staying out of this, of course. He just wanted it _settled._

How did it become his job to deal with everyone’s _emotions?_

He was sitting in a booth at the cafe. It was an hour before rehearsal and he was fueling up with a grilled cheese sandwich. The food at the cafe was mediocre at best, but it was hard to screw up a grilled cheese sandwich, and he was enjoying it. Fried bread and melted cheese seemed like the only good thing within his power to give himself at the moment.

Patrick came into the cafe, wearing a suit and tie—a terrible suit, of course, but the jacket set off his shoulders admirably. How Patrick managed to look so good in his terrible clothes was one of the mysteries of the universe.

Then David remembered how Patrick looked in the costume David had designed, and he had to take a deep breath to calm down. Really. This was ridiculous.

Patrick saw David and came up to the table. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” David said.

“I was going to get a bite before rehearsal. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Um, okay,” David said. Sure. He could do this. They were … friends, right? Friend- _ly,_ anyway. 

Patrick slid into the booth and Twyla brought him a menu. “I’ll just have a burger,” he said to her.

David gestured to the suit and said, “You look nice.” That was a normal, eating-with-friend, not-date thing to say, right? 

Patrick looked down. “Oh, thanks. I had a job interview.” He tugged on his tie to loosen it, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. David’s eyes fixed on Patrick’s fingers undoing that button, revealing an extra inch of Patrick’s throat. Patrick usually wore his button downs with the top _two_ buttons unbuttoned. Not that David had been noticing or _counting_ or anything. He was just a naturally observant person.

David waited to see if Patrick would undo the second button too. He didn’t. David was disappointed. 

So this is what David had been reduced to, panting after an inch of skin.

He focused his eyes firmly on Patrick’s face. But then he had to look at his warm brown eyes with the flecks of gold and his perfect skin and his dusky pink lips.

He cleared his throat. “So where was the interview?” he asked.

“Christmas World. Some kind of office management position.”

“Christmas World?” David exclaimed in horror. “Did a teenager interview you? Did she say ‘Merry Wednesday’?”

“Yes and yes. Why? Did you apply there?”

“Oh, God no,” David held up his hands, pushing that idea away. “Absolutely not. I just happened to be there one day. It’s a long story.”

Patrick lifted one shoulder. “I’m not too excited about it. Oh, funny thing. Your mother was there.”

“My mother was in Christmas World? Why?”

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know. She was talking to some people across the room. I don’t think she even saw me.”

Probably this was connected to her quest for someone to do their publicity. Maybe she thought Christmas World would let her talk to their PR person or something. David decided to let it go. She would realize soon enough they had no choice but to hire Alexis, and everyone would leave him alone about this.

“So are you applying anywhere else?” he asked Patrick.

“There weren’t that many openings around town. There’s one other one I’ll probably apply for.”

“What’s that?”

Patrick pulled up the ad on his phone and showed it to David. _Business Assistant. Amazing Opportunity. Call for details!!!_

“Well, that looks extremely sketchy,” David said. 

Patrick said, “But it’s an amazing opportunity, David. It says so right there.”

“You go to that interview and you’ll be trafficked within an hour.”

“Aw, David, are you worried about me?” Patrick smiled. his eyes bright and teasing.

“Maybe Derrick would worry about you,” David said. He meant to sound arch, but it came out very stiff and awkward.

Patrick’s smile froze for a moment. Then he said, “Yeah, maybe.”

Twyla brought Patrick’s burger.

When Patrick turned his head to pick up the ketchup bottle, David snuck a fry off of Patrick’s plate. It was very hot and crispy.

Patrick said, “So you’re not happy about Christmas World moving into town?” He took a bite of his burger.

“Well, it’s just that I have a completely well-founded and justifiable grudge against them,” David said.

“Did Santa bring you a lump of coal? Don’t worry, David. If I get the job I’ll put in a good word for you with the big guy.”

David pointed a fry at him. “I applied for the lease to that space, but the city council voted to give it to Christmas World instead. Including, I might add, my own mother.”

Patrick looked confused. “Your mother voted against you?” he said. “Why?” 

“Why do you think? Because she thinks I can’t run a business."

Patrick said, “I’m sorry, that really surprises me. She seems to really rely on you for the show.”

David’s brain caught on that for a moment. Then he said, “That’s—out of necessity. Anyway, she had reason—you know what, forget it. I don’t want to tell you.” He stealthily reached over again and took a fry from the edge of Patrick’s plate.

Patrick tilted his head. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“Because it’s a horrible story and it’s—embarrassing, and I don’t want to tell you.”

“I’m applying to Christmas World, and a job that might be a front for trafficking, David. I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here. I don’t think anything you could say would be lower than that.”

David thought about that. He reached over and took another fry from Patrick’s plate.

“You know, you have your own fries,” Patrick said.

“But yours are _fresher.”_

Patrick laughed. David looked into Patrick’s warm, smiling eyes and decided to tell him. Suddenly he _wanted_ to talk about it. He said, “Okay, I found out—well, that my parents basically funded all my galleries back in New York. They paid for everything, sold out my shows, bought out my patrons.”

David looked down. He braced himself for whatever teasing thing Patrick was about to say; that was fine. Patrick wouldn’t know, he couldn’t know, that this was still a sore spot for David. Patrick would tease him, and David would try to tease back, and they’d go on to a different topic. It was fine.

When Patrick was still silent, David finally raised his eyes. Patrick was looking at him steadily, his eyes full of what looked very much like sincerity. “I haven’t known you that long, David,” he said, “But what I’ve seen, is that you’re a very talented, determined, and capable person. And I think you could do anything you set out to do.”

People didn’t just _say_ things like that. Not people David knew anyway. David almost felt like he wanted to cry. Ugh, what was the matter with him?

Then Patrick said, “So what’s your business idea?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I have a business degree. I’m interested.”

“You have a business degree?” How is this man gay, David thought.

“Yes, and I’m interested, so will you tell me please?”

No one in his life was interested in his idea. Stevie was supportive, in her way, but she always started to look bored if he talked about it for longer than five minutes. 

So David told him. He started out by saying, “It’s a general store, but also a specific store,” and it went downhill from there, but then Patrick started asking him questions, and David answered them, and as he talked, his enthusiasm for the idea grew, and Patrick was paying such close attention, acting like what David was saying made sense, so by the end David felt almost eloquent. He ended by saying, “So, you see, it would be a one stop shopping environment that benefits both the vendor and customer.”

Patrick was nodding. “I like it, David, it’s very inventive. Do you have a name in mind?”

“Well, I oscillated between two names for a long time, but … Rose Apothecary?” 

“Ah,” Patrick said. “I like it. It’s pretentious, but just pretentious enough.”

David pursed his lips. He couldn’t tell if Patrick was teasing or not. “Would we call that pretentious? Or timeless?”

Patrick’s tilted his head from side to side like _potato, potahto._ Then his face changed and he sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Patrick said. “Want the rest of my fries?” 

“Of course,” David said, and Patrick slid his plate over to him. 

David said, “What are you not telling me? Is my idea terrible? You think it’s terrible, don’t you?”

“No, David, your idea is good. I just wish I had a clear idea like that of what I want to do. I’m applying for jobs like Christmas World because I don’t know. You do, and that’s amazing.

“Oh,” David said. Somehow Patrick was taking David’s failure and turning it into one step along the road to success. “But I don’t know how to make it happen.”

“Well, you’re still one step ahead of me.”

Twyla brought the check, and Patrick took it. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Save your money for your business.”

“I’m not starting the business. Christmas World, remember?”

Patrick said, “How about I get the job at Christmas World, and I’ll bring them down from the inside. Then you can have the lease.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t take you up on it.”

Patrick laughed.

They walked over to the rehearsal hall together, and David thought how nice it was to walk with Patrick. He had a brief fantasy of the two of them walking together, holding hands—and _ugh._ What was the _matter_ with him?

“Have you ever directed a play before?” Patrick asked.

“Actually, yes.” David told him about the play in New York, leaving out the part about Sebastien being his boyfriend. “I was doing the art direction and ended up doing a lot of the directing work too.”

David explained about Sebastien’s coke binges, and Patrick looked a little wide-eyed at this tale of New York theater world debauchery. David said, “Then he came back and kind of threw me out. But the play did pretty well.”

“I bet it did,” said Patrick, and David felt warm again.

Maybe he and Patrick could be friends, he thought. Not just friendly, but friends, actual friends. 

That was not nothing. He could have a friend other than Stevie. That was allowed. And maybe it could be Patrick.

“David, finally!” his mother called as soon as they walked into the rehearsal hall.

“Finally?” David said. “It’s not even four o’clock.”

His mother went on, “I have a surprise for you. Look who has offered his services to our little production! He’s already shooting footage for a promotional video.” She gestured to the man standing next to her.

The man had his back to David. He was holding a video camera.

Then he lowered the camera and turned around.

He was older, with longer hair, more facial hair. But unmistakable. 

“Sebastien?” he said. He heard his voice, high-pitched, squeaky with shock. Here David had _just_ been talking about him; it was like he’d conjured him into existence.

Sebastien walked across the room to come to a stop in front of David. And there it was. That unforgettable smirk.

“It’s just ‘Raine’ now,” Sebastien said.

He took David by the shoulders, and kissed him on both cheeks. David sensed Patrick make a little movement beside him, but all his attention was focused on the man in front of him.

“Nice to see you again, David.” Sebastien’s voice was velvet-smooth. “I’ve always felt we had unfinished business, you and I.”


	6. A film by Raine

Patrick could feel the shock reverberate through David’s body. Whoever this guy was, David knew him, and it wasn’t good.

Patrick studied the man. Sebastien, David had called him. “Raine,” he’d called himself. He was tall and striking, but his clothes were sloppy and unkempt; he wore a ragged t-shirt and a sloppy sweater with artfully distressed jeans.

Moira clapped her hands at the front of the room to start rehearsal. “David,” she called. 

“Run along, David,” Raine said, and Patrick wanted to punch him just for sounding like a smug, condescending motherfucker.

David gave Patrick one brief, agonized look, and then he went over to join Moira.

Patrick and Raine were left together.

Patrick stuck out his hand. “I’m Patrick,” he said.

“Raine,” he said, shaking Patrick’s hand. Then he put his hand on his chest. “It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m just reveling in your process here. It’s so inspiring.” He sounded sincere, but his mouth was twisted into a little smirk. Patrick wanted to punch him again.

Then Moira called Patrick’s name and he had to go sing.

*

As soon as Patrick got a break, towards the end of rehearsal, he took out his phone and googled “Raine filmmaker.” The first hit that came up was “WATCH Kourtney Kardashian BITCH-SLAP Bouncer!!” He scrolled down and saw more of the same. He clicked on Raine’s IMDB page and saw a film from six years ago called _Never Feel Sorrow_ , but he didn’t see anything recent.

Why would Raine agree to do publicity for them? Patrick mentally crossed himself in apology for the thought, but he didn’t think Moira Rose was famous enough to warrant the full TMZ treatment. He suspected the real reason Raine was here had something to do with David, and he didn’t like it.

Patrick watched as Raine wandered around, his camera up to his eye. He was focused on Moira, but Patrick noticed the way he seemed to be circling David, never fully approaching him but never far away either, like a predator stalking its prey.

David looked stressed and uncomfortable.

Patrick was stressed too. This guy had hurt David somehow; he was hurting David now. Patrick wanted to launch himself between David and Raine, protect David from hurt, protect him from anything bad. He hated seeing David like this; he hated Raine with an intensity that was new to him, deep and visceral.

Maybe there was some jealousy mixed in there too. _Unfinished business,_ Raine had said. He and David had a history, that was obvious.

Moira clapped her hands and announced the end of rehearsal. People started filing out. Raine approached Moira with his camera and started asking her questions, filming her as she answered. At one point Moira put up her hand in front of the camera, but then she lowered it, smiling gamely all the while. David was standing some distance away, watching them through narrowed eyes.

Patrick wanted to help, but he couldn’t think of anything to do.

Patrick had a date with Derrick tonight. He was supposed to meet him right after this. Should he cancel? He should cancel. He took out his phone. He touched Derrick’s name in his contacts, then paused, trying to think of what to say.

He and Derrick had gone on four dates. Tonight would be their fifth.

He liked Derrick. He liked spending time with him. He liked talking to him and he liked kissing him, and if it weren’t for Mia Patrick probably would have slept with him already, because it seemed the natural next thing to do.

But Mia had asked him, “Why are you doing this, with Derrick?”

Patrick said, “I’m getting out there! What you told me to do, remember?”

She said, “I told you to date multiple people, for _practice._ I didn’t tell you to leap into a relationship with the first guy to show an interest in you.”

Patrick opened his mouth to point out that he’d also re-opened his Bumpkin account. But since he hadn’t actually gone on any dates yet, it wasn’t a very strong argument.

He said instead, “We’re not in a relationship.”

“Does _he_ know that?”

“We’ve only been on a few dates. He wouldn’t assume—”

Mia held up her hands. “You don’t know what he wouldn’t assume. That’s why you _tell_ him. You need to be upfront with people, communicate your boundaries and expectations.”

“Ugh,” he said. 

That was apparently her cue to bring out the heavy artillery, because she said, “Do you ever think about how you ended up engaged to Rachel?”

Patrick was silent, torn between _I think about it all the time_ and _I try not to think about it at all_ , both of which felt like they were true.

Mia went on, “I’m just guessing here, but do you think going along with other people’s expectations had anything to do with it?”

And hadn’t that just stayed in his mind for days.

So he was trying to take her advice. He was taking things slow, with Derrick. He told him he wasn’t ready to sleep with him or be exclusive. He was _communicating his boundaries and expectations._ He was trying to think about what he actually wanted, not just what was expected of him.

The only trouble was, he actually _did_ know what he wanted. He knew exactly.

David.

It was a knot in his chest every time he saw David, also when he didn’t see David; he thought about David when Derrick put his hands on his body, also when Derrick walked him to his door and kissed him chastely goodnight. No matter what happened, no matter what didn’t happen, his longing for David was a constant ache, impervious to logic or attempts at distraction.

Why did he never feel what he was supposed to feel? Why couldn’t he like the guy who liked him, instead of the guy who’d made it clear he wasn’t interested?

Patrick remembered how he had felt with Rachel, always struggling to find feelings that weren’t there. This was different; simpler, more straightforward. He knew _why_ he felt the way he did—which he hadn’t, for a long time, when he was with Rachel. But it was similar enough to that old feeling that it was unnerving. 

And depressing. Very depressing.

None of this was relevant now. Patrick needed to focus on the matter at hand. David was his friend; his friend was in trouble. The fact that Patrick had a massive crush on him wasn’t really the issue here.

But help him how? His mind ticked through possibilities. The easiest thing seemed to be to convince Moira that Raine couldn’t be trusted, so maybe that was the place to start. 

His eyes found David again, watching Raine and Moira. Patrick looked over at them too, at the practiced smile on Moira’s face for Raine’s camera, every inch an actress, with just hints of vulnerability lurking beneath.

That was it. He was not going to meet Derrick tonight. 

He decided to take the coward’s way out and text him instead of calling. He texted, _sorry have to cancel tonight_. He paused and then added, _something came up, i’ll explain later._

Patrick tucked his phone back in his pocket.

Patrick watched Raine lower his camera, lean down and kiss Moira on both cheeks, saying goodbye. Then Raine turned and went over to David, putting his hands on his shoulders to say something. David nodded. Raine slid his hands up to either side of David’s face and held him in place, and David stilled, his eyes fixed on Raine as Raine said something deeply stupid and pretentious. 

Or so Patrick assumed. 

Patrick itched with how much he wanted to run over there and tear them apart.

Raine turned to go, passing in front of Patrick on his way out the door, mouth fixed in a small private smile. 

As soon as Raine was out the door, David made a beeline for Moira. Alexis trailed behind, looking gleeful and chattering a mile a minute. Patrick heard her say something about _mall pretzels,_ had he heard that right? Everyone else was gone, and Patrick debated joining their conversation. Would they think he was intruding?

Before he could move, Patrick’s phone rang in his pocket.

He answered, and Derrick said, “What’s wrong? Can I help? I’m at the cafe having a smoothie.”

Of course you are, Patrick thought, then felt guilty for thinking that. “Oh, no,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s nothing.”

Then he realized he probably shouldn’t say _it’s nothing_ , since he’d just canceled their date at the last minute.

Derrick said, “But what’s wrong? Family emergency?”

Patrick felt caught. He thought about saying, _yup, family, you know how it is._ But then he heard Mia’s voice in his head: _be upfront with people._ He said, “It’s about the show, actually.”

Derrick sounded confused. “And it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Um,” Patrick said. 

Derrick started saying something else, but Patrick had stopped listening.

David and Moira were arguing, both of them gesticulating wildly, while Alexis stood by, her face bright and her hands twisting together in front of her chest, her eyes jumping from one to the other.

Snippets of their argument drifted his way. Patrick strained to hear over what Derrick was saying.

David: “—first Jake and now this—

Moira: “—expect me to keep track of every inamorato in your past—”

David: “—a monster—“

Derrick’s voice, coming through the phone in his hand, “Patrick? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” Patrick said.

“Are you still at the rehearsal hall?” 

“Yes, I’m—

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The phone went dead in his hand. Shit. 

Patrick didn’t want to examine why he didn’t want Derrick there; he just knew he didn’t. 

Hesitantly, not sure it was his place, he approached the Roses.

Moira was saying, “The opportunity was simply too good to be missed, David!”

David said, “Why is Sebastien even here? What would make him show up in this part of the world?”

“He informed me he is here to shoot a documentary about Christmas World.”

David said, “Fucking Christmas World!” like this was the last straw.

Patrick said, “Excuse me, can I interject?”

All three Roses swiveled their faces to him.

Patrick said, “I was just doing a little research on Raine, and I’m just wondering if you all know what kind of work he’s doing now? David?”

David shook his head. “I stopped following him after _Never Feel Sorrow.”_

Patrick took out his phone. He pulled up the video of Kourtney Kardashian he had found earlier. The Roses crowded around him.

Alexis said, “Oh my God, I’ve seen this one!”

David said, “So have I.” Patrick looked at him, and he said, “What? I wanted to see what she did to the bouncer.”

Patrick said, “Well, apparently, this is what Raine is doing now. Paparazzi videos.”

Moira said, “Nonsense. He is here to do a documentary about Christmas World.”

Patrick said, “He might be doing that too. I imagine doing a vanity piece for a CEO pays pretty well.”

David said, “Well, this explains a lot.”

“Excuse me, David, what does it explain? What possible connection could this”—Moira gestured to Patrick’s phone—“have to our fledgling production?”

David looked like he was choosing his words carefully. “He might be interested in you, as a celebrity. There’s always a market for embarrassing celebrity videos.”

Moira drew herself up. She said, “I am very much aware of that, David. But what material could he find here? Artistic enterprise is never embarrassing, no matter where it blooms.” Moira’s voice was defiant, but Patrick thought she looked uneasy. “Are _you_ embarrassed?” 

“It’s not about what I think, it’s what he thinks!” David said, “Besides, it’s easy to make people look bad through selective editing.”

“I know what editing can do, David,” his mother said. “You act as if I’m a neophyte to the entertainment industry.”

David said, “I just think he might have an ulterior motive.”

Moira said, “I find this very hard to believe, David. He is a well respected filmmaker.”

David shrugged expressively. “He used to be.”

Moira looked uncertain for a moment, then shook her head decisively. “No, I think you’re wrong. Raine is doing serious work for the Christmas World executives, and I don’t see why he would not be interested in doing serious work for us. This is an incredible opportunity. Your cynicism does not become you.”

Moira marched away. She opened the door of the rehearsal hall, then turned back. “I’m leaning in, David!” she said. “You should try it sometime!”

The door slammed behind her. Patrick was left alone with Alexis and David.

“So,” Patrick said. “Is Raine—”

David interrupted, “Please don’t call him that. Ugh.”

“Sebastien, then,” Patrick said. “So, you’re pretty sure he’s up to something here?”

“I am positive that he is,” David said.

“So you, uh, know him?” Patrick knew it was none of his business, but he couldn’t help asking.

David said flatly, “He’s my ex.”

Alexis said, “He and David dated for like a month and a half, and David was very upset about it.”

“It was four months,” David interrupted. “It was when he was doing his first play, the one where _I_ actually did most of the work.”

Patrick said, “Oh, that story you told me? That was his play?”

“Yes,” David said.

Patrick remembered what David had said about that, how the guy had disappeared on coke binges, let David do all the work, then swooped in and taken all the credit.

“Huh,” he said.

Then the door opened, and Derrick walked in.

“Oh,” David said when he saw him. His eyes flew to Patrick’s face. He looked upset, but then, he was upset already. Patrick wanted to reassure him, tell him—tell him what? _I don’t want to go on a date with Derrick. I want to stay with you._

Like David would care about that.

Derrick came up and kissed Patrick on the cheek. “Hi,” he said. “So what’s going on?”

Patrick glanced at David, who gestured as if to say, _be my guest._

Patrick explained, leaving out David’s connection to Sebastien, just explaining the types of videos that Sebastien was known for, and their suspicion that he was after something to embarrass Moira. Through it all, Derrick nodded, taking it all in, his eyes telegraphing to Patrick, _you know this is not an emergency, right?_

When he finished, Derrick said, “Patrick, can we talk outside?”

“Um, sure,” Patrick said. He said, “Excuse me,” to David and Alexis.

They went out to Derrick’s car, Derrick leading, Patrick trailing behind. He had a vague sense of being in trouble, which reminded him unpleasantly of fighting with Rachel.

“So this is the reason you cancelled our date?” Derrick said.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, still thinking of Rachel. Patrick had often started their fights by apologizing preemptively, hoping to forestall … whatever. It rarely worked.

Trying to stay focused on the matter at hand, Patrick added, “I just wanted to help.”

“By doing what?”

“Well,” Patrick hedged. Derrick was looking at him with skepticism written all over his face. “I like Mrs. Rose and I don’t want her to be—ah, internet shamed or anything.”

“You like Mrs. Rose,” Derrick said. “And all the Roses, am I right?”

“Yes, of course I like them. Alexis, and—”

“And David,” Derrick said.

Patrick dropped his eyes. He could feel Derrick looking at him. He felt a rush of tangled emotions: resentment at being so obvious, annoyed to be called out, frustration that his plan to get over David was falling apart so quickly. 

But Derrick wasn’t a plan. He was a person. And maybe he didn’t want to go out with someone who was hung up on someone else.

_Be upfront with people._

Patrick raised his eyes. “Yes. And David.”

Derrick nodded, and then nodded some more. 

Patrick said. “I’m sorry.”

Derrick said, “No need.”

“You deserve better,” Patrick said. He swallowed. “I guess—I mean—I guess we should break up.”

Derrick gave him a little half smile. “We only went on four dates, Patrick.” He pulled him in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay.” Patrick said faintly, returning the hug.

Derrick pulled back. He brought a hand to Patrick’s face and stroked his cheek, gently, with his thumb. Then he turned, got in his car, and drove away.

*

When Patrick walked back into the rehearsal hall, Alexis was saying, “Ugh, David! I have to go take a final! Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t. The longer we wait—” David looked up as Patrick approached. “Where’s Derrick?” he said.

Patrick tried to sound casual. He said, “He had to take off.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Is there a plan? What can I do?”

David said, “Are you sure you don’t need to go too?”

“No, I’m good,” Patrick said, feeling very self-conscious. “I’d like to help.”

David said stiffly, “Seriously, if you had plans—”

“It’s fine,” Patrick said. 

Alexis said, practically dancing with frustration, “You are not the one who should be doing this, David! I’m the one who broke out of Ecuadorian prison when I got picked up on a smuggling charge. You would have been extradited like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” David said sarcastically.

Patrick said, “So your plan involves breaking and entering?”

“Not necessarily,” David said.

Alexis said, “David wants to steal the memory card from Sebastien’s camera.”

Patrick said, “We could just go see him, see if he’ll tell us what he’s after, then go from there.”

They both ignored him.

Alexis said, “I’m just saying, David, I have a lot more experience at this kind of stuff than you do.”

David said, “Excuse me! Do you remember how I outsmarted Gwen?”

Alexis gave him a snide smile. “David, you outwitted _one_ person _one_ time. Call me when you have to negotiate a ransom for an actual Nigerian prince.”

“Okay,” David said. “Bye now. Go take your final.” He flicked his fingers, dismissing her.

“Unggh!” Alexis said. “If I fail this final because I can’t stop thinking about how you are going to screw this up, I will never forgive you!”

“It will be fine, Alexis,” Patrick interjected. “I’m going to help. We’ll be fine.”

Alexis turned to look at Patrick. “Okay, button,” she said. “I’m counting on you to get David through this.”

Then she leaned in and booped him on the nose.

*

Patrick and David were at the counter at the motel. Stevie was gathering her things, getting ready to go home. “Do you know if Sebastien is in his room?” David asked, in a pathetic attempt at sounding casual.

Stevie lifted one shoulder in an expressive shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”

David said, “Okay, so. You’re part of this show. So, whatever Sebastien does, it affects you too. Would you agree with that?”

Stevie said, “You know, this would go a lot faster if you just tell me what you want.”

“The master key to the rooms,” Patrick said, and David threw out his hands in exasperation. “Patrick!” he said. “Would you just let me—”

Stevie said, “You know, that goes against every moral standard I hold dear as a motel owner.”

“Really?” David said nervously.

“No,” she said. “I just wanted to see your face when I said that.” She handed them the key. “In fact, if you make the bed and clean the bathroom while you’re in there, it will save me a trip,” she said.

“Mm, I don’t think so, but thanks so much,” David said, turning to go. Patrick followed.

“And maybe the other rooms, too, while you’re at it!” Stevie called after them.

*

Outside Sebastien’s door, they paused. “What if he’s in there?” Patrick said.

“I’ll knock,” David said. “You stand over there.”

Patrick didn’t move. “But what are you going to say if he’s there?”

“I’ll say I want to catch up on old times.” Even as he said this, David made a grimace of distaste.

“How about if _I_ knock?” Patrick said. “You stand over there.”

David looked down at the key in his hand, turning it over and over in his palm. “But what are you going to say? It’s not believable that you would come see him.” 

“I’ll say I want to be internet famous.”

“No, don’t do that. He’ll think—”

“What?”

“I don’t know. He’ll think you want to make a sex tape or something.”

“Really? Just like that?"

“He makes very trashy videos, Patrick. And he was never very discriminating about who he—”

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so someone would have to be not very discriminating to want to—”

“No, stop.” David waved his hands around. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Really? Well, don’t worry about me, David. I promise I won’t accidentally start making a sex tape with him.”

“Oh, very funny.”

Before David could continue the argument, Patrick lifted his hand and knocked sharply on the door.

They waited. There was no sound from inside the room.

David raised the key to the lock, then glanced at Patrick. “Are we ready to do this?”

Patrick nodded. “Open the door.”

David slid the key in the lock and turned it. He put his hand on the doorknob and paused to look around furtively. There might as well have been a flashing neon sign over his head saying _breaking and entering happening here!_

Patrick whispered, “Come on, David, hurry.”

“What?” David said, sounding very offended, but he opened the door and went in.

“I hope you never have to turn to a life of crime,” Patrick said, closing the door and locking it behind them. 

“Why?”

“Let’s just say being stealthy is not your strong suit,” Patrick said, with a rush of affection. David couldn’t be inconspicuous if he tried; it was one of Patrick’s favorite things about him.

“Hmph,” David said. 

They both surveyed the room. It was very messy, clothing all over the floor, the bedclothes kicked down. “Ew. Still a slob, I see,” David said, looking around.

Patrick said, “I don’t see his camera. Could he have it with him?”

“I suppose it could be under something,” David said. He leaned over and used one finger and thumb to gingerly pick up a shirt from the floor. There was nothing underneath it, and he dropped it immediately. He looked over at Patrick.

“Um, are you going to help me or just stand there?”

Patrick started picking up clothes, looking under them, trying to put the clothing back in the same way he found it, though he doubted Sebastien would notice. No camera.

He and David looked at each other.

“How about in his suitcase?” Patrick said. He went over and knelt in front of it.

“Um,” David said. “I know how often Stevie cleans these floors, so you might want to think twice before you do that.”

Patrick suppressed a smile as he opened up the suitcase.

Suddenly, they heard the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock. They looked at each other in alarm.

Patrick snapped the suitcase closed. “Closet,” he whispered. They scrambled over to the closet and crowded in together. Patrick yanked David in and pulled the door shut behind them. Out in the room, they heard the room door open and someone coming in.

Patrick held his breath. He glanced at David, whose eyes were stretched wide. He looked as scared as Patrick felt.

They heard Sebastien moving around, turning on the TV, flipping through some channels. Then the bedsprings creaked as he presumably sat down or lay down on the bed.

The TV was loud. That was good, it made it less likely Sebastien would hear them. Patrick let out his breath slowly. His heart rate was gradually slowing down and his eyes adjusting a little to the darkness. He turned his head a little, his eyes sweeping the interior of the closet. As far as he could tell, it was empty.

It was just possible that they wouldn’t be caught. Since none of his things were in here, Sebastien was unlikely to open the closet door. They could hide until he left again, and then slip away.

 _If_ he left. What if he was in for the night? They couldn’t stay here all night. Could they wait until Sebastien was asleep, and leave then? It was risky, very risky.

This was bad.

Even if they weren’t caught, they were trapped here, for who knows how long. In a very small closet.

All at once Patrick became aware of just _how_ small, of just how closely he was pressed up against David. His hand was still clutching David’s arm from when he’d pulled him in earlier. He forced himself to loosen his grip and lower his hand. David’s face was very close to his, and their bodies were touching in dozens of places from shoulder to thigh. Patrick’s body started tingling in every one of those places.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He had to calm down. They could be in here for hours. 

He could be pressed up against David, like this, for hours.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.


	7. Closet

This was very, very bad. David was stuck in a closet with a guy he had a crazy intense crush on, hiding from his horrible ex, _in_ his ex’s motel room, because he'd broken in to steal the memory card from his ex’s camera.

Just taking stock of the situation.

David tried to shift his body a little, give Patrick more room, but it was impossible. This was the smallest closet he’d ever seen, much smaller than the closet in his room, which he always thought was as pathetically small as a closet could get.

Patrick’s face was inches from his. David could feel Patrick’s body pressing against him, could feel the heat from his body, feel his chest rising and falling with every breath.

David was very … warm. He turned his body a bit, trying to change the angle. He was—this could get bad. He was scared, but he wasn’t so scared that he couldn’t notice—other things. David closed his eyes, willing his body to calm down.

Patrick was dating someone else. And even if he weren’t, the last person Patrick would be interested in would be someone who got him mixed up in a situation like this. What had David been thinking? Alexis was right. He was terrible at this.

They heard a cell phone ringing, and Sebastien answered it. “Raine here.”

Raine. God, he was so stupid. What had David ever seen in him? He’d _cried_ over this guy. He’d shed actual tears.

Sebastien said to the person on the phone, “Nothing much. I’m in rural Ontario right now for my Christmas World piece.”

“Oh, no, I adore it here. It’s so delightfully unassertive. It’s so good to get away from New York once in a while. I find it restorative.”

A pause, then, “Oh, but guess who I’ve run into. Remember the Rose family? Canada’s answer to the Kardashians? They’re here.”

David winced. Patrick seemed to move a little closer to him, but maybe that was his imagination.

Sebastien went on, “They lost everything and this is where they landed. They’re putting on Cabaret and it’s wonderfully pathetic. The great Moira Rose, still clinging to the belief that she’s Susan Lucci. I did some filming today, and I love how hopeless it all is. Grey Gardens in the wilds of Canada. Interflix might bite.”

David was in hell. Forced to stand here silently with Patrick while the worst guy in the world talked shit about his family. And he used to _date_ him. What must Patrick be thinking?

Then David felt Patrick’s hand on his upper arm; his broad palm warm through the fabric of his sweater. Patrick squeezed gently, and David realized Patrick was trying to comfort him. He felt himself tearing up. He closed his eyes and held himself as still as he could, afraid if he moved that Patrick would stop touching him.

Sebastien laughed. “Remember ‘A Little Bit Alexis’? Little Alexis is in this production too, I’m sure she’ll provide us with some material. And David Rose too, remember him?”

Patrick’s hand tightened on David’s arm.

Sebastien said, “Yes, that’s him. He’s actually directing this thing too.” Sebastien laughed at whatever the person said on the other end. He said, “Oh yes, he was always a bit of a drama queen. But as restorative as all this rural quiet is, a little drama might spice up my life.”

“Naturally,” he said. “Okay, ciao."

David was afraid to open his eyes, thinking of what Sebastien had said. _Drama queen._ David desperately wished he were somewhere else. He wanted to get away, far away from Sebastien and Sebastien’s version of him.

Patrick started stroking gently up and down David’s arm, his fingers gentle and caressing.

David opened his eyes. Patrick was looking right at him. David’s breath caught at the look in his eyes, warm and tender. Patrick was so close to him; David could feel him breathing, he could smell him; he smelled good, so fucking good, like woods and rain and other tantalizing things. Heat flared along every one of his nerve endings, his skin burning where Patrick was touching his arm and in all the places their bodies were brushing against each other.

Patrick’s other hand came up to settle on David’s waist. 

David felt drawn in as if by a magnet, and he leaned in, closer, closer, giving Patrick time to pull away. But Patrick didn’t pull away. He was leaning in too, his face tilting up to David’s.

Their lips touched, gently. David wanted nothing more than to crush Patrick’s mouth beneath his own, but instead he turned and leaned a little forward so he could put his mouth to Patrick’s ear. He said, “Derrick?” his voice a thin thread of sound.

Patrick shook his head, a decisive negative movement. Then he turned his head and put his mouth to David’s ear in turn. “Broke up,” he breathed.

Then Patrick slid his mouth down a little and brushed his lips lightly against David’s neck, sending delicious shivers down his spine. 

Patrick brought his hand to David’s cheek and turned his face so his mouth was lined up with his. Then he stilled, and hesitated, and David leaned in to close the last gap between them. Their lips caught.

David’s brain whispered, _stop it, this is insane, stop,_ but he couldn’t stop, not with Patrick’s mouth moving against his, his lips so soft, so unbelievably soft. David wrapped his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue inside Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick made a yearning sound and opened up eagerly for him. He slid his tongue alongside David’s, and that was so good, it felt so good. David kissed Patrick with all the pent-up desire and longing of the last months, and Patrick was kissing him back, his mouth so hot and demanding that David could almost pretend Patrick had been feeling it too.

Patrick pushed David back against the closet wall, his hands roaming over David’s body, his shoulders, his arms, his waist. David gave himself up to it, to the delicious feeling of Patrick’s hands on him, of Patrick’s body pressing against him. David could feel Patrick’s hips just lightly brushing against him, like Patrick was trying to hold back from touching their lower bodies together, and it was tantalizing and maddening, feeling him so close. David wanted Patrick to press his hips against David’s; he wanted to feel if Patrick was hard for him, if his cock was hard like David’s was; he needed to feel that and know that. He slid one of his hands off of Patrick’s shoulders and ran his hand down Patrick’s side and waist. He paused briefly but then continued down to squeeze Patrick’s ass, that ass he’d been wanting to get his hands on for so long, and hauled him against him. Patrick gave a little gasp into David’s mouth and responded eagerly, rolling his hips against David’s, and oh god, _yes,_ Patrick was hard too, David could feel it, feel the thick length of him, pressing against him—

Then there was a noise, a loud knock, and they broke apart. David jerked back and would have stumbled if there was anywhere to stumble in this tiny space. He felt Patrick’s arms go to his waist and tighten around him, holding him steady.

David thought for a panicked moment the knocking was on the closet door, but then he realized it was the door of the room.

They heard the front door open. “Why, hello there, Raine,” a voice said.

It was his mother.

“Shit,” David breathed. Patrick’s eyes flicked up and they shared a worried glance.

“Moira,” Sebastien said. David could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Raine, I thought I would come by and have a consultation with you about our project. I wanted to discuss theme, tone, mise-en-scene …”

Sebastien interrupted smoothly. “You are an angel to be so interested in the technical side of things, Moira. But you are in experienced hands. Your only task is to be my muse and my guide.”

“Well, naturally, that is an honor and a privilege, Raine.” His mother gave a ladylike little cough. “Could I perhaps trouble you for a beverage? It is so dry in this dusty little hamlet.”

“Certainly,” Sebastien said.

They heard water running, and Moira’s voice again, “Tell me, Raine, how did you happen to end up doing this project for Christmas World?”

“I met Mr. Lively at Katy’s Perry’s New Year’s Eve bash.”

No way was Sebastien invited to one of Katy’s parties, David thought. He must have crashed it. Or was hiding outside somewhere with this camera.

Moira exclaimed, “Mr. Lively? You can’t mean Hans Lively!”

“Yes, Hans Lively. He’s the CEO of Christmas World.”

Moira made a delighted sound. “Ah! That is extraordinary. Hans and Bree Lively were yearly guests at our Christmas parties! And to think now they are running an entire company devoted to Christmas! We must have been quite the inspiration.” She laughed.

“Of course you were, Moira,” Sebastien said, his voice betraying a thin edge of impatience.

“Hans was always one for a bit of self-aggrandizement. But it was Bree who held the purse strings. I’m surprised—well, it’s no matter. I am sure the work you are doing will silence all doubts.” 

David wanted to keep his mind on this conversation, he really did. He knew their predicament was pretty fucking dire, but his mind was trying to wrap around the fact that he had kissed Patrick. He and Patrick had just kissed, and Patrick was still holding him, his hands resting on his waist. Even with his mother out there and this situation getting worse by the minute, David just wanted to burrow into Patrick’s arms. David tentatively brought his hands back to Patrick’s shoulders and smoothed his palms over them. Who knows if he would get a chance to touch them again?

Sebastien’s voice again: “Moira, I hate to cut this short, but part of my process is rest and repose after a shoot. Creativity needs space to thrive and expand. I hope you understand.”

There was a smile in Moira’s voice as she said, “Indeed. But if I could bother you for one more moment, I am interested in just peeking at the dailies from today.”

“The dailies?” Sebastien’s voice became, if it was possible, even more condescending. “Actually, Moira, we don’t have ‘dailies’ like you’re thinking of.”

“You don’t review the raw footage at the end of each day of shooting?”

“No, it isn’t necessary. I have it all right here on the memory card.”

At the words _memory card_ David and Patrick looked at each other. David felt Patrick’s fingers dig into his waist.

“On this diminutive little thing? All the footage from today is on this tiny card?”

“Yes, so you see—” Sebastien said.

Then Moira’s voice, alarmed. “Oh, Raine, I must apologize! I seem to have dropped it in my drink.”

“Well, get it, quick!”

A splash, and something dropping with a thud, possibly the glass. Then Moira’s voice, in full distress, “Oh, Raine! I’m afraid I’ve stepped on it as well.”

“What the fuck, Moira?”

“I am simply disconsolate about this, Raine. Can I replace it for you?”

“That won’t help!” Sebastien snapped. “Do you realize what this means?"

“I don’t pretend to know anything about these matters, but I have heard that with any type of technology it is very important to perform an occasional backup? Think of this as a life lesson learned.”

“You did that on purpose, Moira.” Sebastien sounded furious. “I thought we had the same vision here.”

A pause, and then his mother said, with a bit of steel in her voice, “My son has informed me that you are unworthy of our trust, Raine.”

David drew a breath, sharply, and he felt Patrick’s arms tighten around him.

Sebastien said. “David is a beautiful spirit, Moira, but might not be the most reliable narrator when it comes to our history.”

 _A beautiful spirit._ Jesus Christ. 

“Are any of us reliable narrators, Sebastien?” Moira said. “I’ll bid you farewell, then.” 

David could picture his mother’s face, smiling, probably blowing him a kiss. The door opened and then slammed closed.

Sebastien said, “Fuck!” Then there was another knock at the door. Sebastien opened it and said “What?” and they heard Stevie’s voice, bored: “Oh, sorry, but I have to clean your room.”

“I don’t need it, it’s fine,” Sebastien snapped.

“Oh, but I have to do it. Now.”

A frustrated sigh from Sebastien. “Fine! I need a drink anyway.” They heard him stomping around the room, gathering his things, heard him walk out and close the door.

Silence.

Then Stevie’s voice: “You can come out now. Unless there’s some reason you want to stay in there.”

This was over, it was really over. David realized his hands were still on Patrick’s shoulders and he jerked them away. Patrick’s arms slid away from David. He put his hand on the doorknob and swung the door open. David blinked into the sudden brightness to see Stevie standing there with her arms folded.

Stevie said, “So, you didn’t even do the beds, I see. Thanks for nothing.”

*

Patrick wasn’t looking at him. He had not looked at David, not once.

They were in David’s room, with his mother and Alexis. Patrick was sitting at the table with his arms folded. Alexis had come tripping down the sidewalk just as they’d come out of Sebastien’s room, and dragged them into their room, obviously intent on quizzing them about what happened; but then as soon as they walked in, their mother had appeared and insisted on “regaling” them the story of her run-in with Sebastien.

She told it with relish, finishing up with, “His face was quite a picture, I can assure you of that.”

She looked at them expectantly.

David was just trying to decide if he should tell his mother he already knew all this, when Alexis spoke up, speaking to David. “Wait, _Mom_ got the memory card? I thought you guys were going to get it.”

“Excuse me, Alexis,” his mother said. She obviously felt her story hadn’t gotten the reaction it deserved.

David said to Alexis, “Okay, um, we tried? We were actually in Sebastien’s room looking for it, when he came back. It was _very_ traumatic.” He glanced over at Patrick. But Patrick’s eyes were fastened on the motel carpet like he was trying to memorize the stains. 

That would take awhile.

Alexis said, “Wait, he came back while you were there? What happened? Did he catch you?”

“No, we hid.”

His mother had been looking from one to the other as they talked. She said, “Do you mean to convey that when I was talking to Raine—”

Alexis said, “You _hid?_ Where?”

“In the closet.”

Alexis’s eyes were gleeful saucers. “How long were you stuck in there?”

“About an hour,” Patrick said. These were the first words he’d spoken.

An hour. David thought of how Patrick’s lips had felt against his, how Patrick had touched him and how his tongue had felt in his mouth and his cock had felt pressing against him. He thought about how Patrick had tried to comfort him when Sebastien was being an asshole.

David would never have been able to say how long it was. It had felt like forever and no time at all. Like not enough time. 

Not nearly enough.

What was Patrick thinking right now? Why wouldn’t he look at David? 

David felt a gathering sense of dread.

His mother said, “So you and Patrick had ensconced yourselves in the closet while I was talking to Raine?”

“Yes, we did,” David said. “And yes, we heard your conversation.”

“You were great, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick said.

His mom bowed her head regally. “Thank you, Patrick.”

David cleared his throat and said, “And then after Mom left, Sebastien took off, so we were able to leave.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t get caught,” Alexis said. “It’s a miracle! I credit Patrick.”

“Um, hello?” David said. 

“Thank you, Alexis,” Patrick said, smiling a little, but he still wasn’t looking at David.

His mother said, “David, you showed remarkable courage and fortitude, attempting to procure the memory card from Sebastien.”

Alexis turned to their mother. She said, “Wait. I thought you were all gung ho for Raine to make his little promotional video or documentary or whatever.”

Moira looked uncomfortable. “I simply decided, upon further reflection, that the man was untrustworthy.”

David’s first instinct was to lash out at that, some variant of _Oh, really? What made you realize that all of a sudden?_ But then he remembered what she had said to Sebastien: _My son says you are unworthy of our trust._ He felt a little glow, a tiny flicker of warmth.

“I’m just glad it worked out,” he said. “And, um, yeah. You were—you did great.”

His mother went on, “It’s unfortunate that you had to hide like criminals, when Sebastien is the real criminal here.” She looked over at Patrick. “Patrick, I’m glad you were there in the closet with David to provide moral support.”

David expected Patrick to look at him then, for his face to communicate something like, _is that what they’re calling it these days?_ But Patrick’s eyes were firmly still firmly fixed on the carpet. “It was nothing,” he said.

_It was nothing._

Was that a message for David? Was Patrick trying to tell him the kiss meant nothing, that it didn’t mean what David hoped it meant?

_It was nothing._

Well, what could be more logical? Why would Patrick want to have anything to do with David? Derrick was more his style, obviously. When Patrick had had a choice between David and Derrick, he’d chosen Derrick.

Patrick said that he and Derrick had broken up. But had they really? Maybe they weren’t broken up at all, or maybe they were on a break, or having a fight. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to David. Or the second. Or the tenth.

Patrick stood up. “Well, I better get going. I’m glad everything turned out okay. David, will you, uh, walk me back to my car?”

David stood up too. “Um, sure.”

This was it. This where Patrick was going to say _it was a mistake,_ or maybe, _this was a one-time thing_ or _let’s just forget this ever happened._

David had heard them all. He knew the drill. He’d been rejected and ghosted and cheated on and brushed off a hundred times, in scores of variations.

Patrick would probably be kind. That was something.

They went out into the night. The air was cool and pleasant. 

David wasn’t one to ever notice anything about the outdoors, but if he had been, he would have noticed that the moon was very full tonight and the stars were very bright, and walking next to Patrick in the cool, quiet evening air felt lovely and enchanted like something from a rom com. If David lived in a different universe, one where he was not who he was, if he lived in a universe where he was someone Patrick could like and or maybe even love; in _that_ universe Patrick would slip his hand in his right now and they would walk together under this moon, and these stars, and in this air. 

But he was not in that universe. So David walked by Patrick’s side with his eyes on the ground and his hands clasped behind his back, battling back waves of useless longing.

They reached a bench that was on the sidewalk. Patrick said, “Can we stop here for a second?”

“Okay,” David said. They sat down. David bit down on his lips and tucked his hands underneath his thighs.

_Here we go._

Patrick said, “I’m glad your mom realized you were right about Sebastien.”

David said, “I’m just glad it’s over.”

He was itchy with embarrassment and dread, waiting for Patrick to get it over with.

But Patrick kept not saying anything, and the silence stretched out longer and longer like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point.

David blurted, “Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Patrick sent him a glance, startled but otherwise unreadable. “Oh,” he said. “Is that—is that what you want?”

“I mean—” David made a gesture with his hands. “Don’t you?”

Patrick was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough. “We don’t ever have to talk about it, David, but I’m not going to forget it. I’m not going to forget kissing you.”

David felt dizzy suddenly. Hope was rising up in him. He was vibrating with it, like a string that Patrick had just plucked.

He said, “What about—um, what about Derrick?”

Patrick looked confused. “I told you, we broke up.”

“It’s just, I didn’t know if you meant _broke up_ broke up.”

“What else would I mean?”

David looked down. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Patrick’s thigh. Which was a mistake, because it was a good thigh, and it made David remember how it had felt pressed up against him today.

Patrick said, “Ah. Did you think it was just a line?”

“No,” David said stiffly. But he had. At least, maybe.

Patrick said, “Derrick and I talked today and we’re not seeing each other anymore.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but then stopped.

“Okay,” David whispered.

More silence.

“David, I—I’d like to take you out on a date,” Patrick said. 

David’s throat closed. This was so different from what he had prepared for that he couldn’t speak. He thought he might cry, and that was so embarrassing, _who does that?_ Cries from just being asked on a date?

At his silence, Patrick said quickly, “I get it, you don’t want to, and that’s fine—” 

David started shaking his head. “No! No, I mean yes!” Realizing he wasn’t being clear, frantic to explain, like if he couldn’t get the words out this chance might be taken from him, he took a deep breath and said, “Yes. I meant no for _not_ wanting to.”

Patrick tilted his head to the side. “You meant no for—”

“I mean I’m saying yes,” David said loudly, interrupting. “I want to go on a date. With you.” God, he sounded like an idiot. 

But he didn’t care.

Because Patrick’s eyes were all lit up and he was looking at David like—like he was happy. And—something else. Relieved, maybe. What was that about?

“Does tomorrow work?”

“Yes, tomorrow works.”

“Uh, I would wait until our date, but since we kind of already did today …” Patrick trailed off. He looked up. “Can I kiss you?” His mouth quirked up. “Again?"

“Yes,” David whispered.

Patrick leaned over and touched his lips to David’s. David’s eyes fluttered closed and their lips slotted together like they’d kissed a hundred times before, instead of just once. David brought his hand up to the back of Patrick’s head to pull him closer, and he felt Patrick melt into it, his hand coming up to rest gently on David’s chest, his lips parting. It was sweet and soft and gentle and David thought he might die from it.

Too soon, Patrick was pulling back again.

Patrick stood up, and David stood up too. They started walking over to where Patrick had parked his truck. 

As they walked, he felt Patrick’s hand brush against his. 

The moon was still full. The stars were still bright—maybe a little bit brighter, even. The night air was cool and pleasant. 

And David reached over and took Patrick's hand.


	8. First date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change. :)

“Well, now you have to get married,” Mia said.

Patrick nearly choked on his tea. “Excuse me?” he said. He could feel all of his nerves ignite, the nerves that he’d been trying to quiet all morning. 

He and Mia were having brunch at his apartment. He’d made omelets and Mia brought over an apple cake.

He was taking David on a date _tonight._ If he lived that long. If Mia didn’t kill him first by saying things like _that._

“You will never beat that story for how you started dating,” Mia went on blithely. “So you’ll have to marry him. You have no choice.”

Patrick attempted to match her tone. “I see. So I need to—” He cleared his throat. “Uh, marry him for the story value.”

“Exactly.” 

He said, “I seem to remember someone warning me not to get too serious with Derrick too fast. What happened to that?”

Mia said, “What happened, Brewer, is that I’m still stuck here in gay kindergarten going on first dates on Bumpkin, and you get stuck in a closet with your secret crush and start making out with him. That’s like, master class in gay. You were in a _closet!”_

“The symbolism is very heavy,” Patrick said, and couldn’t stop the smile that wanted to spread all over his face.

Mia put her hands over her eyes. “Ugh, you’re so smug and I can’t even be mad!”

He should be smug, Patrick thought. He was going on a date with David. It was something he’d never had before in his life, to feel like this about someone he was taking out. Someone he had kissed.

She dropped her hands and looked at him with those keen eyes of hers. “You are happy about this, right?”

“Yes. But also—terrified.” He took one of those deep cleansing breaths that were supposed to be good for nerves. It had no effect.

She put her hand over his, on the table. “Hey. Don’t overthink it. Just go and enjoy spending time with someone you really like.”

Patrick nodded. That was good advice. 

Advice that he felt utterly incapable of taking.

*

After Mia left, he cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher, wrapped up the rest of the apple cake. David would like this cake. He loved sweet things. Patrick wished he could bring him a piece tonight, but that would be stupid, showing up for a date with a piece of cake.

Should he bring flowers, maybe? No. That was too much.

 _You’ll have to marry him._ Mia’s voice sliced into his thoughts.

He wished Mia hadn’t said that. She was teasing him, of course, joking around like they always did—nothing wrong with that. It was just—it was embarrassing, the way he’d felt when she said it, the private, secret thrill that had run through him at just the _idea_ of it.

The way he had never felt, he realized—not once—about marrying Rachel. 

What had he felt for her? Affection. Familiarity. A deep sense of obligation. 

Just what every woman wants to hear. 

Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why would he think she would want him on those terms? Why would he subject Rachel, who he cared about so deeply, to a husband who felt that way about her? 

Because he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known what he was capable of feeling, so he’d thought the tepid warmth he’d felt for her was enough.

He hadn’t talked to Rachel since he left town. He hadn’t explained, beyond that one conversation where he’d said _I’m so sorry, but I can’t marry you,_ when she’d been too stunned to say much back. He probably owed her more than that. He’d told his parents he was gay, but he hadn’t told Rachel.

Thinking about Rachel made him edgy. It reminded him of his failures and his stupidity, how often he’d gone through the merry-go-round of their endless breakups and makeups, how he had cluelessly assumed for years that he was straight. 

What else was he missing? What else was he wrong about? 

Was he wrong about David?

As recently as the dance lesson, David hadn’t been interested in Patrick.

Maybe the kiss in the closet was just a passing whim on David’s part. Or maybe it happened because David was upset about seeing his ex. Or maybe he’d only gone along with it because Patrick practically attacked him. Maybe Patrick was just assuming it meant something because he wanted so much for it to mean something.

Wasn’t someone like Sebastien more David’s style? Not Sebastien, because he was a pretentious dick, but someone from that world, someone who knew art and theater and rubbed shoulders with celebrities. Not Patrick, who had lived all his life in the same small town, hadn’t even known he was gay until a few months ago, needed remedial dance lessons, worked on a goat farm, and had never done coke in his life.

In a world where David had any other options, would he even look at Patrick twice? 

Patrick’s phone rang, interrupting his spiral. It was Melanie, the woman who had interviewed him at Christmas World. She asked if he could come in for a second interview later that day.

Patrick wasn’t sure how well he would be able to focus on anything today, but he went. He shook off his thoughts about David as best he could, put his suit back on, went to the interview, smiled and said “Merry Saturday” and talked about his business experience, and tried not to show how much he really, really did not want to work there.

As he was walking out of Christmas World, he paused, looking back inside the room. It really was a beautiful space, he thought. He’d been hearing a lot about design from David in the last few months, and it made him notice things that he never noticed before, like the antique light fixtures and the high ceilings and the way the white tile set off the warm tones of the wood floors. 

It made him remember David talking about his business, in a way Patrick never heard him talk about anything, his dark eyes glowing, joy and enthusiasm untempered by any shadow of cynicism or self-doubt. Patrick felt suddenly sure that this business was something David would want in _any_ world, any circumstances. David should have that. 

Patrick crossed the street and went into the cafe. After ordering a cup of tea, he took out his phone and paged through his contacts. He was pretty sure one of his business school friends now worked for the Ministry of Small Business. He sent her a text, asking if they could talk.

He felt better after he sent it. Now. Back to tonight.

 _Just go and enjoy spending time with someone you like._ Mia was right. It was pointless to torture himself imagining what would have happened if he’d met David under different circumstances. In _this_ world, David had agreed to go out with him.

He researched a couple of dinner possibilities and texted David.

 **Patrick:** if you had to choose b/w these  
**Patrick:** elmdale bistro  
**Patrick:** francescas  
**Patrick:** Or cafe tropical  
**Patrick:** it doesn’t have a website but I will send you a pic of the menu hold on

Patrick said to Twyla, “Can I see a menu?” She gave it to him and he took a picture of the first page, as much as would fit on the screen, and hit send.

 **Patrick:** hold on that was only half the first page

He took a picture of the bottom half of the first page, then moved on to page two.

 **David:** stop

Patrick took more pictures of the menu and sent them.

 **David:** I’m going to kill you

 **Patrick:** But david I want you to see all the options

 **David:** I’m choosing the ELMDALE BISTRO  
**David:** not the restaurant where the signature dish is a deep fried mozzarella stick platter

 **Patrick:** Don’t pretend you don’t love mozzarella sticks

 **David:** not the point

 **Patrick:** should we say 8:00  
**Patrick:** I preordered the mozzarella sticks 👍

 **David:** seriously I’m going to murder you in your sleep

*

Patrick made a reservation for the Elmdale Bistro, and drove to pick David up at the motel at 8:00.

Patrick paused in front of David’s door. He hadn’t been sure what to wear tonight. He was wearing his usual blue button down and jeans, but at the last minute he’d put on a blazer too, and he wasn’t sure about it. Maybe he should take it off. He was tugging at the sleeves, trying to decide, when Alexis opened the door.

“Patrick!” she said. “Don’t you look adorable, all dressed up in your little blazer!”

“Oh, um, thanks.”

She stood back to let him in, looking way too delighted with the whole situation.

“David’s just finishing getting ready,” Alexis went on. “I’ve never seen him try on so many different outfits, not even when he was dating the guy from Project Runway.”

“Oh my _God,_ shut up!” came David’s voice from the bathroom.

“Really?” Patrick said, feeling instantly much better. “How many outfits are we talking about, exactly?” 

“Oh, double digits,” Alexis said.

David came out. He was wearing black pants and a sweatshirt that had a big lightning bolt on the front. He looked dazzling. Patrick was dazzled.

“Well, you look very nice,” David said, and Patrick ducked his head.

“You too,” he said.

Alexis pretended to hold a camera up to take a picture of them. “Literally, so cute!” she crowed, screwing up her face into a little smile.

“We’re leaving now, bye,” David said, pushing Patrick toward the door.

*

At the restaurant, Patrick ordered chicken and David ordered pasta, and they split a bottle of wine. David seemed happy to be there, and Patrick felt himself relaxing into the warm buzz of the wine and David’s company.

After the waiter cleared their plates and poured the last of the wine into each of their glasses, Patrick said, “So how is your mother bearing up after the whole Sebastien thing?”

“Oh, she’s acting like it never happened. She’s having Alexis take over the publicity like it was her plan all along.”

“And how is Alexis taking that?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She knows how Mom is.”

Patrick felt a private flare of indignation on Alexis’s—and David’s—behalf, but he knew tangled family dynamics. He left it alone. He ventured, “Have you seen Sebastien at all since then?”

“No, thank God.”

“It must have been upsetting, having him show up out of the blue like that.” Patrick tried to picture how he’d feel, having Rachel just pop up out of nowhere. Rachel was a totally different kind of ex than Sebastien, but he felt a thrill of dread just imagining that world colliding with this one.

“Ugh,” David said. “Yeah, it was awful.”

Patrick thought about David’s past life, how his _before_ versus his _after_ were much more starkly different than Patrick’s. And, unlike Patrick, this new life wasn’t one David had chosen. Patrick felt his insecurities from earlier wake up and gather in a knot in his stomach. 

Patrick said, “I did a little googling, and, maybe you know this already, but Sebastien’s reputation is based mostly on his first play. The one that you directed.”

“Hm,” David said, giving a little half-shrug. He looked like he liked the idea, though.

Patrick went on, “And he rode that for awhile, but look what he’s doing now. So if he thinks he can look down on _you,_ well, he’s very wrong.”

David's eyes were fixed on the tablecloth. “That’s very nice of you to say,” he said softly.

Patrick pressed on. “Yesterday, you were talking about protecting your mom from any videos of the show coming out, how embarrassing it would be for her. And I wondered, well, if you felt the same.”

“If I felt the same as what?”

Patrick paused. “The same as Sebastien, I guess?” he said finally. “I mean, I know he’s—he’s—”

“An asshole,” David supplied.

“Yeah. But, the way he talked about the show—his world was kind of your world too, the world you used to be in. So I wondered if you felt like that, too. I mean, it’s fine if you do. I know this show isn’t exactly—”

Patrick felt himself beginning to flounder and trailed off. He wished he hadn’t brought this up. What was he asking anyway? _Do you think the show is stupid and embarrassing? Do you think I’m stupid and embarrassing? Would you ever date me in a million years if you had other options?_

He opened his mouth to say, _you know what, forget it,_ but David was answering already. He said, “I … guess, at first—well, when my mother was trying to rope me into this, I thought about a cast of people like Bob and I was sure this was all going to be a disaster. And now …” 

“And now?” Patrick said.

“I mean, we’ve got—” He gestured toward Patrick.

Patrick felt a little thrill but he tucked in his smile and just raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got what?”

David rolled his eyes. “We’ve got _you,_ okay? And you know you’re good, so shut up. And we’ve got Stevie, who is somehow amazing, and my mother is going around steamrolling everyone into thinking they can do anything—”

“She is good at that,” Patrick said.

“And my designs, well—”

“Impeccable, of course.”

“Of course,” David said, smiling his little half smile. “Honestly … I thought I would be embarrassed. But, I guess, I’m not.”

“Okay,” Patrick said. He nodded and tried not to smile as much as he wanted to.

David went on, “All that said, depending on how the first performance goes I might ask you to forget everything I just said.”

“Noted,” Patrick said. He picked up his glass. “To artistic enterprise, wherever it blooms,” he said.

“I can’t believe you’re making me toast to a Moira Rose saying,” David said, rolling his eyes, but he clinked Patrick’s glass, and they both drank.

*

As they came out of the restaurant, Patrick gathered his courage and tangled his fingers with David’s. “Do you want to come back to my place for a bit?” he said, trying to sound casual, but he could feel himself blushing.

“Mm, well,” David said. “I am interested in looking at your books and your decorating choices and judging you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Patrick said. His hand tightened on David’s.

Patrick drove them to his place, let them in with his key. When they got inside, he gestured around the room. “Judge away,” he said. 

“Oh, I already am,” David assured him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Patrick said. 

“No, thanks,” David said. He was still looking around the room, but then his gaze came around and centered on Patrick. “But you can kiss me.”

Patrick paused. They should … talk, maybe, first? _Communicate?_ But, on the other hand—

David was _here,_ actually here in his apartment. Looking tall and impossibly beautiful. Asking Patrick to kiss him.

“I mean,” David said, sounding uncertain now. “If you want.”

“Oh, I want,” Patrick said. He walked over and pulled David in and covered his lips with his own. 

David made a pleased sound in his throat and looped his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick loved the way that felt, David’s arms so strong and sure on his shoulders, the weight of them already so familiar, like they were meant to be there.

After a long minute Patrick pulled back enough to say softly, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Really? How long?”

“I like kissing you,” Patrick said, and gave him a little peck on the lips.

“How long, Patrick?” David said, smiling into his mouth.

Patrick smiled back and gave him another little kiss, and then another, and then he couldn’t stand it anymore and kissed him more deeply, sliding his tongue into David’s mouth.

They kissed like that for awhile, long slow kisses, and then, all at once, it turned frantic and needy; both of them clutching at each other and pressing their bodies closer together. Kissing David was so different than anyone Patrick had ever kissed before. When he’d kissed a man for the first time, he’d felt a click, that this was what was right, this was what felt natural and right for him. What he hadn’t realized is that there could be more even than that, that there was feeling right, and there was feeling … _this._

He maneuvered David over to the couch and nudged him onto it, and David sat down but he pulled Patrick so he tumbled down with him, and suddenly Patrick was in David’s lap. 

“Oh,” he said breathlessly. He could feel David’s erection against his thigh. Patrick’s own cock was straining against his jeans.

He turned so he was straddling David, his thighs bracketing his, and leaned down to capture David’s mouth again. David kissed him back hungrily and his hands dropped to Patricks’s thighs and he stroked up and down several times.

David said, “How about we take this off?” He tugged Patrick’s blazer down over his shoulders. Patrick let him pull it off, down his arms and onto the floor. He reached down to the hem of David’s sweatshirt and worked his hand underneath it.

“This, too?” Patrick murmured, and David let him pull the sweatshirt over his head. He had a t-shirt on underneath, and Patrick ran his hands over David’s biceps, which he realized he’d never seen before. His arms were incredible. 

David tilted Patrick’s head back so he could put his mouth on his neck, just under his jaw, licking and biting and working his way down until he was nibbling on Patrick’s collarbone, his tongue flicking in the hollow of his throat, until Patrick felt weak with it. David unbuttoned the top button of Patrick’s shirt, and moved his mouth down to kiss the exposed skin. Then he unbuttoned another, and another, his mouth following the trail down his chest. Patrick braced himself on David’s shoulders so he could remain upright against the onslaught of sensation, the feeling of David’s lips and tongue and teeth on his body.

“I knew it,” David whispered against his chest.

“What?” Patrick said, dazed.

“I knew your skin would blush like this for me,” David said, his voice low and husky. He pulled back to look where he had just been kissing. “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, Patrick thought, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words, and then David dropped his hands to Patrick’s hips and squeezed, and Patrick took the hint and ground down, pressing his cock against David’s. And oh, that was—that felt—that was just what he needed. He did it again, and David clutched him closer and made a needy, yearning sound.

Patrick dropped his hand to David’s waistband and paused. “This okay?” he whispered, and David said, “Yes, oh, yes,” and Patrick fumbled to unbutton David’s pants, and then he put his hand inside and wrapped it around David’s cock, and David made another one of those needy sounds, and God, that was what Patrick wanted to hear. He stroked his hand up and down over the hard length of David’s cock, and Patrick wanted more; he wanted to see it, he wanted to put it in his mouth. He wanted that more than anything.

He slid off of David’s lap so he was kneeling on the floor. He looked up at David with a question in his eyes.

“Yes, God, yes, yes, Patrick,” David said.

Patrick pulled David’s pants down a little bit, exposing expensive-looking black boxers and David’s erection, straining at the silky material. Patrick leaned forward and put his mouth on him, over the material, feeling his cock gently with his mouth and tongue. He paused, and he felt David’s fingers on the back of his head, stroking him restlessly. Then Patrick pulled David’s underwear down, and he leaned over and put his mouth around David’s cock, taking him down as deeply as he could. And oh, that was good; he loved the feel of David’s cock, hot and hard in his mouth, stretching his lips, drops of pre-cum bitter against his tongue. David gasped and arched up into his mouth and Patrick started to move his tongue and lips and hand in a steady rhythm.

Patrick had given blow jobs before, of course, over the last six months. He liked doing it. He’d focused on it as something he wanted to be good at, a skill set he wanted to acquire. But this—this was different. David was different. Patrick’s entire world narrowed to _this,_ his senses sharpened, he felt tuned into David’s reactions in a way he’d never felt before. It made him feel powerful, feeling David responding to him, and Patrick wanted to live inside that feeling

When David’s hips arched up and he gasped and dug his fingers into the back of Patrick’s head, Patrick loosened his grip and gentled his tongue and started just tracing the head of David’s cock with feather-light strokes, and David tightened his grip on Patrick’s hair and started making frustrated pleading noises and finally gasped out, “Oh fuck, Jesus—fucking _tease,_ ” and Patrick smiled, or he would have, if his mouth wasn’t full of cock. 

Then Patrick took a deep breath and hollowed his cheeks and sucked David down, taking in as much as his length as he could, and David made an extremely loud, extremely gratifying noise as he arched up, his cock pulsing in Patrick’s mouth, his come hot on the back of Patrick’s throat. 

As David collapsed back on the couch, Patrick thought, _now that’s a fucking blowjob,_ with a surge of satisfaction. He let David’s cock slip out of his mouth and laid his head on David’s thigh, as David stroked his head with gentle fingers. Patrick was searching for a way to say _so how was that?_ without actually saying _so how was that,_ but then David plucked at his shoulders and gasped, “Come up here, come up, I can’t pull you, you’ve killed me,” and Patrick thought that gave him a pretty good idea of how it was.

He scrambled up so he was back in David’s lap, straddling him, and David palmed his hand on Patrick’s cock over his jeans and, okay, yes, Patrick could get on board with this. 

David fumbled with Patrick’s belt, trying to unfasten it, as he said, “God, Patrick—can you—” and Patrick unbuckled his belt for him. “This too,” David said, fumbling at the button of his jeans, and Patrick unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and then David’s hand was reaching in to wrap around his aching cock and Patrick had to take a deep breath.

David squeezed him gently and murmured, “Now this is something I like.”

“Mm,” Patrick said, all his attention focused on not coming immediately into David’s hand.

Then David let go of his cock and put an arm around his waist and pulled him off his lap onto the couch and—okay, that was hot, just being _moved_ that way. Then David slid down on the floor in front of him and his fingers scratched over Patrick’s thighs and then moved up to tug his jeans down a little further. He put his fingers on the waistband of his boxer briefs and looked up and said, “This okay?” just like Patrick had.

“Oh, God, yes, _please,_ ” Patrick said, and David _grinned,_ his eyes crinkling up, and he was so beautiful that way, his face so open and unguarded. He pulled down Patrick’s underwear to fully expose his cock. Then David just paused and looked for a long moment, until Patrick felt he would die if David didn’t do something—anything—soon.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” David said finally, and he bent down and took Patrick into the hot, silky wetness of his mouth, and completely took him apart with his clever tongue, until Patrick’s vision whited out and his brain was full of static, and he was coming harder than he ever had in his life. 

He thought he knew what good sex felt like, but it turned out he knew nothing.

When he came back to himself, David was looking up at him, and his lips were red and swollen and his hair was mussed up where Patrick had tangled his hands in it. Patrick reached down and cupped his face in his hand. “David,” he whispered.

David came back up on the couch. They took a minute to get their clothes refastened, and then Patrick held out his arms and David said “Oh,” and went into them, resting his head on Patrick’s chest.

“Thank you, David,” Patrick said.

“For the blowjob?” David said into his chest.

Patrick gave a little huff of laughter. “No, I mean, yes. It was a fantastic blowjob. I just meant, for everything. For tonight.”

“Mm,” David said.

They should talk. Patrick should tell David what he was feeling, what he wanted this to be, but he was afraid of saying too much, of scaring David away or finding out David didn’t want the same thing. And it was nice, it was so nice sitting here with David in his arms, wrapped up in the darkness and the quiet.

He stroked David’s hair. After a minute or two David gave a little sigh and melted into him.

*

Later that night, they were sitting in Patrick’s truck in front of the motel. It was very late. 

Patrick was still searching for what to say, how to _communicate._

He said, “I’m really glad I decided to try out for your musical, David.”

David smiled. “That’s a lovely thing to say.”

Patrick said, teasing, “And I’m so glad you did, Patrick, because you’ve really helped turn it into the success that it is.”

“It’s not a success yet,” David said primly. “We still have another two weeks for you to fuck it up.”

Patrick laughed. “Okay, fair.”

They were silent for a moment. Then Patrick said, “Remember when you asked me earlier, how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you?”

“Yes,” David said.

Patrick said, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time I saw you. And every day since then.”

David was silent for a long moment, and Patrick held his breath.

Finally David said, “Me too.”

“Oh,” Patrick said. “That’s—that’s good then.” Then he took a breath and went on, “So, um, I don’t know what _you_ want, but I just want you to know—I don’t want this to be just a one night thing.”

And David’s voice came, quiet, shy, just a breath of sound: “Okay. That sounds—that sounds good.”

Then David leaned toward him, and Patrick leaned in too, and their lips met. David’s hand came up to cup Patrick’s cheek, and they kissed gently, reverently, and it felt like a promise, like the beginning of something new.

*

A few days later, Patrick was on his way over to the theater in Elmdale where David was supervising set construction, running through sound checks, testing the lights, and a million other things to get ready for tech week. Moira wasn’t there; she was leaving the set design strictly to David now.

When Patrick walked into the theater, he paused to watch David standing in the middle of the stage, the center of a hub of activity. There were red velvet curtains being hung that would be part of the stage-within-a-stage of the Kit Kat Club. He saw the lounge that he and David had brought down from Heather’s attic, now reupholstered. He saw the benches they had picked up from Jake.

“Things are really coming together,” he said.

David looked up and smiled. “Hi,” he said.

“It looks great, David.”

“Hm,” was all David said, but a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth before he tucked it in between his teeth.

Patrick climbed the stairs to the stage. “I do need to talk to you for a minute though,” he put a hand on David’s arm. “Uh, over here.”

David looked immediately alarmed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just need to—” Patrick said, walking out into the wings, pulling David along.

“What is it—oh,” David said, because as soon as they rounded the corner, Patrick crowded David up against the wall and kissed him.

David kissed him back eagerly, his hands coming up to loop around Patrick’s shoulders.

After a long minute, Patrick drew back a little and opened his eyes. “Sorry to pull you away from your work,” he said.

“Yes, I’m very upset about it,” David said. His hands skimmed across the tops of Patrick’s shoulders, back and forth.

Patrick smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.

“David!” came an imperious voice behind him. Patrick jumped away.

It was Gwen. She had her arms full of garment bags. “Where do you want me to put these?”

“Oh, um, there’s a dressing room back there,” David said, pointing. “I can—I can show you.”

“No, I can find it, you look like you’re _busy.”_ But she didn’t move right away, she just stood smirking at them over the mound of garment bags.

David cleared his throat and said, “There’s a rack set up in there you can hang them on.”

“Okay,” Gwen said. She turned to go but then looked back. “Glad to see you’re finally doing something besides making cow eyes at each other,” and went away cackling.

Patrick and David looked at each other. Patrick said, “Wow, savage.”

“Tell me about it.”

Patrick’s phone rang in his pocket. He dug it out to answer it. It was Melanie, from Christmas World. “Merry Monday!” she said. “I’m super excited to offer you the position of business office manager at Christmas World!”

“Oh, uh, that’s great,” Patrick said.

David was looking at him questioningly. Patrick mouthed _Christmas World_ and David nodded in comprehension.

Melanie started asking Patrick about start dates, and he interrupted, as politely as he could, “Melanie, do you mind sending me the offer letter? I’d like to look it over and think about it before I say yes.”

“Think about it? What is there to think about?”

“Well, I have another offer I’m considering and I’d like to look at them side by side.”

Melanie sounded a little huffy but she agreed to send it over.

Patrick hung up. 

“That was smart,” David said. “Pretending you have another offer.”

“Listen, David,” Patrick said impulsively. “What about your business?”

David said, “What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think maybe I could help you. I know you said you have some startup money, but there are grants available for small businesses you can apply for. If you got some of them, you could, well, you could afford to hire me to help you run the business side of things.”

David was chewing on his lip. “But I can’t—I didn’t get the lease. Christmas World did.”

Patrick said, teasing, “What, there aren’t any other retail spaces in the area?”

“Not like that one.”

“But have you looked? It doesn’t hurt to look.”

David still looked uncertain. 

“Listen, I know I just sprang this on you out of nowhere,” Patrick said. “I just think that your business—well, it’s a good idea, and I think it could really work.”

David was shaking his head. “But—I mean, I don’t even know if I want to do it.”

Patrick said, “Well, only you know that, but you sounded—you sounded really excited when we talked about it before.”

David was silent.

“What is it, David?”

David said, in a rush, “Okay, you’re right, I do want to. But, well, I don’t know if I _can,_ okay? I’d hate for you to turn down an offer, and then—I mean, I’d hate to be responsible for that.”

“Okay, well, I admit I don’t want to work at Christmas World anyway, and maybe I’m looking for a reason not to take the job. But your business isn’t my only other option, it’s just—” _what I really want to do._ “I can explore other possibilities too.”

“What other possibilities?”

“Well, there’s that other job listing.”

“The weird one? The _trafficking_ one?”

“How about if I just call them? They can’t traffic me over the phone.”

“You don’t know that!” David said.

Patrick pulled up the job ad on his phone again, and dialed the number. A very cheerful voice said, “Ray Butani, real estate, vacation packages, photography, and closet reorganization. How may I help you today?”

David waved a hand to get his attention.

“I’m sorry, Ray, can you hold on a second?” Patrick said. He looked at David.

David said, “You probably won’t get trafficked. I mean, you never know, but Ray is—I know Ray. He’s probably fine.”

Patrick smiled and put the phone back to his ear. “I’m interested in applying for the job you posted. The exciting opportunity?”

Ray exclaimed, “Ah, wonderful news!” Then he lowered his voice and said confidentially, “You know, Patrick, I’ve been running that ad for weeks, and you are my first applicant!”

“Oh, that’s, um, hard to believe,” Patrick said politely.

Patrick arranged an interview for the next day. “There,” he said to David after he hung up. “Now I’ve got options even if I turn down the Christmas World offer.”

David’s face was twisting into a smile. “Well, maybe—” he began.

Gwen’s voice came from behind him. “Wait a minute,” she said to Patrick. “You got offered a job at Christmas World? _Christmas World?”_

“Oh God,” David muttered.

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“They told me they _weren’t hiring!_ That all the positions were _filled!”_

Gwen was glaring at Patrick. It was unnerving, having all her considerable intensity focused on him. “I’m sorry?”

Gwen looked at him for a beat longer. Then she said in a low voice that was filled with venom, “Fucking Christmas World,” and stomped off.

Patrick watched her go. “Um, should we be scared? Should I warn Melanie?” he said.

“Hm,” David said. “Can you tell me a little bit more, about what you said? You want to work—for me?”

“Work _with_ you. Yes,” Patrick said.

“So I would still be making the creative decisions, right? And you would handle the business … stuff?”

Patrick smiled. “Yes, that’s what I would do. Business—stuff.”

“But, I mean, do you really think you could get the money? The grants?”

David was really considering this. Patrick felt a surge of satisfaction. “Oh, I can get the money,” he assured him.

“Okay,” David said, and he looked a little dazzled. “Um. I’m a little … can I think about it?” 

“Of course.” David looked—happy, maybe, and a little bit excited, and Patrick loved that he’d put that look on David’s face. No matter what happened with them, no matter what world they were in, this is something Patrick could do for David. 

He wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again.


	9. Stage dressing

Gwen, the permanent bane of his existence, had a new obsession.

After hearing about Patrick’s job offer, Gwen had turned against Christmas World, and now hated them to the same degree she had loved them before. So instead of working on costumes, she was spending hours researching Christmas World’s labor practices, or looking for dirt on Hans Lively, the CEO. When she heard his mother used to know him, she spent an hour pumping her for information. His mother was only too happy to oblige, so David had to listen while she told Gwen with relish about the time he’d had too much to drink and tried to stick his hand down her dress, which, _ew._

Gwen said venomously, “See? This guy shouldn’t be in charge of anything, let alone something as important as _Christmas.”_

So, after he had agreed to _more boobs and legs,_ Gwen was now late with the alterations—and Patrick’s emcee costume wasn’t done either. And let’s just say that David was very much interested in seeing that costume again, thank you very much.

He had Bob on his back about Herr Schultz’s big proposal scene. Alexis was asking to switch dance parts with Twyla in the opening number to showcase what she said were her best angles, and an ever-expanding horde of Twyla’s relatives were asking him about free tickets.

People, David decided, were fucking annoying. Specifically, everyone involved in this production of Cabaret was annoying, with the exception of Patrick.

Today was their last rehearsal at the hall in town. Tomorrow they would head over to the theater in Elmdale for a week of tech rehearsals. David was going to spend the morning there tomorrow putting the final touches on the sets. His mother hadn’t even seen them yet. She’d been mostly leaving him alone, which he wanted to think meant she trusted him, but probably meant that she was too preoccupied with whipping the cast into last minute shape.

So yeah, David had a lot to deal with. His brain was turning inside out trying to stay on top of everything. But through it all there was a nagging sense that after next week, and the two weekends of shows that followed, he would be back to doing nothing.

He needed to figure out what was next, and he kept thinking of Patrick saying _What about your business?_

But it was a little hard to focus on it, or on the thousand things he had to do for the show, because all he _really_ wanted to do right now was get his hands and mouth on Patrick’s beautiful body, as much as possible, and as often as possible.

His eyes found Patrick on the other side of the room, where he was working with Derrick and Stevie, practicing the Money number.

It had been one week since Patrick had said _I don’t want this to be just a one night thing._

And, so far it had been a _five_ night thing. Counting dates was extremely bad luck, of course, and David was not going to do it, but privately, very privately, he acknowledged that tonight was going to be their sixth date. It was nothing special; they were going to grab a quick dinner at the cafe after rehearsal and then, David hoped, go back to Patrick’s place and get naked.

It was a little frightening, how much he was looking forward to it.

But he could handle this. David was just going to enjoy Patrick as long as he had him, and he wasn’t going to think about where it was leading, or how it was going, or how much longer it was going to last before Patrick inevitably broke up with him.

His eyes went over to Patrick again, all sweaty with his hair sticking up, concentrating so hard on getting the steps right and lifting Stevie while she did a fucking cartwheel, my God, over and over again. And Derrick was staring at Patrick’s body and his ass because that was his _job,_ and Patrick was not going to suddenly decide he wanted to be with Derrick again, because that would be very illogical, and Patrick was a very logical person.

David and Patrick were being _discreet._ Patrick had let Derrick know that they were dating, quietly, because that was the mature thing to do, and Derrick was being generally very cool about the whole thing. Alexis knew they were dating, of course, and Stevie, but he hadn’t told his mother, ugh, God forbid, and they were trying to keep it quiet in front of the rest of the cast too.

Patrick and Stevie finished the number, and it looked like Derrick was giving them a break. Good. Now maybe David could—no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t just walk right up to Patrick and drag him away. That wouldn’t be _discreet._

But then Patrick looked over, and he met David’s eyes, and he tilted his head toward the little dressing room in the back, and he raised his little insignificant eyebrows, and well. David couldn’t say no to that.

A few minutes later, they were in the dressing room and David was devouring Patrick’s lips, which were pink and lush and salty with sweat; how had he ever lived without kissing them? 

“I’m sweaty and disgusting,” Patrick said breathlessly, between kisses. “Sorry.”

“You’re sweaty and disgusting and hot,” David said, and plunged his tongue back in Patrick’s mouth. 

They only had a couple of minutes, at most. David dipped his head down and fastened his lips on Patrick’s neck, while Patrick ran his hands all over David’s body, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, like he wanted to touch as much of him as possible in as short a time as possible.

Patrick got his hands up under David’s sweater, then slid his fingers down under the waistband of David’s pants, his fingernails dragging over the sensitive skin at his waist. David wanted to reach down and grab Patrick’s ass, which was made to be squeezed, but one of them should have some self-control here, and from the way he was mauling David right now, it didn’t look like it was going to be Patrick.

David raised his head. “Wait,” he gasped. Patrick chased his lips, catching his lower lip with his teeth. David kissed him back but then leaned away again.

“Stop,” he said, this time holding Patrick’s face in his hands. Patrick’s eyes opened. He looked dazed.

“This is only a ten minute break,” David said. He touched Patrick’s lips, which were a little swollen. God, he was gorgeous.

Patrick shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, sorry,” he said.

“Tonight,” David promised.

Patrick let out a breath. “Tonight,” he said.

David gave him another quick kiss and then sent Patrick out of the room first, and then went out himself after a minute or two. He felt very smug. They were being very professional and discreet.

When he came out, Stevie sidled up to him. “So, you’re pretty busy these days, huh?” she asked.

“Yes, actually, I am,” David said. “The show is next week.”

“Patrick, too?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” David said. “Naturally, he’s busy too.”

Stevie pointed to Patrick, talking to Jade a few feet away. “He’s got a—” She tapped the side of her neck.

David looked and saw that, yes indeed, there was a noticeable red spot on Patrick’s neck, just in the spot he’d been devouring a few minutes ago. “Um,” he said. 

“Looks like a hickey to me. Or, is it maybe a mouth shaped sunburn?”

He squirmed under Stevie’s gaze. “Okay. That is a _half-_ hickey, at most.”

“Mm-hm,” Stevie said.

“We’re being discreet!” 

“Oh, definitely,” Stevie said, smirking.

Well. Stevie didn’t count. She was primed to look for stuff like that, and she loved to troll David about any damn thing.

He made a mental note to look for some concealer for Patrick. Was _ghost_ a shade?

*

After rehearsal, Patrick changed into his street clothes while David packed up his bag. When Patrick came out, he said, “Ready?” It felt pleasantly routine, already. They turned to go, but then David heard the unmistakable click-clack of his mother’s heels.

“Oh, David,” she said. “Can I bend your ear for just a moment?”

They paused, and Patrick said, “It’s fine, I’ll go ahead. Meet me at the cafe.”

After the door closed behind him, his mother said, “David, why did you not tell me that you are having a dalliance with our leading man?”

David said weakly, “Um. We’re being discreet.”

“Canoodling in the dressing room is not exactly a hallmark of discretion, David.”

“Ugh! We weren’t—please never say _canoodling,”_ David said.

His mother was studying him. “Also, it might raise certain questions.”

“What _questions?”_

“Naturally, I am not accusing you of anything, but it could raise questions about whether the part was won fair and square.”

“Wait,” he said. “Are you accusing us of a _casting couch_ type situation?”

His mother drew herself up, all stateliness and affronted dignity. “David,” she said. “When Joyce DeWitt dated the casting director of _Not Without My Cousin,_ the scandal followed her for years.”

“Okay, leaving now,” he said, turning away.

“Think of poor Patrick’s reputation!” she called after him.

“Bye!” he said.

*

At the cafe, David indignantly recounted his conversation with his mother. Instead of being appalled, like any decent human being would be, Patrick seemed to think it was funny.

He leaned in and whispered, putting a hint of gravel in his voice, “You know, I would have slept with you to get the part,” he said.

David’s brain naturally short-circuited when he heard that, and he couldn’t think about anything but getting Patrick into bed as soon as possible. He rushed them through the rest of the meal and practically dragged Patrick out of there.

Patrick was laughing and seemed very willing to be dragged, but as they came out of the cafe he suddenly stopped short. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

Patrick swore so seldom, David was instantly on alert. “What?” he said.

“That guy,” Patrick said, gesturing across the street. “I know him.”

David followed Patrick’s gaze to see a handsome, outdoorsy-looking guy in a fleece jacket, wearing cargo pants with a distressing number of pockets. He was holding a little girl by the hand. A woman was with him, presumably his wife or girlfriend. She was holding a baby.

They were about to cross the street. The guy paused and looked both ways at the empty street, obviously for the benefit of the little girl. Then they all crossed together, walking towards David and Patrick.

Patrick stood up very straight. David instinctively moved closer to him.

The guy looked up as they came closer, caught sight of Patrick, and stopped. His face blanched white.

“Hello,” Patrick said. 

“Hi,” the guy croaked out.

The woman had walked on and was now standing at the door of the cafe. She shifted the baby to her other hip and said, “Evan, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

The guy turned to go without saying anything else, hurrying away, pulling the little girl along behind him. They caught up with the woman, and the whole family went into the cafe.

David said, “Who was that?”

Patrick’s mouth was set in a firm line. He said, “Nobody. Let’s go.”

*

When they got to Patrick’s apartment, Patrick was on David as soon as they closed the door, his strong hands pushing David to the bed, climbing on top of him, pulling at his clothes, kissing him and giving him what seemed to be a very thorough hickey on his neck.

“Patrick,” David said. He put his hands on Patrick’s shoulders to push him away, but instead just stroked back and forth helplessly, because what Patrick was doing to his neck was very distracting. “Don’t get me wrong, this is very—” he said breathlessly. “But I’m just wondering, do you want to talk about—anything?”

Patrick lifted his head from David’s neck. “No,” he said. “Right now I just want—” He leaned down and kissed him. It was a bruising kiss, almost desperate, and David gave himself up to it, letting Patrick take and take. Then Patrick raised his head and touched David’s face, tracing his lips with his fingers. “Jesus,” he said. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” 

David let out a little whimper. Well, fuck. If Patrick was going to say things like _that—_

“I love looking at you,” Patrick went on, his eyes dark and intent. “I want to make you feel good, David. Can I make you feel good?”

David gave a jerky nod, and then Patrick efficiently stripped David out of his clothes, and pressed him down on the bed, and slowly and relentlessly jacked him off while he whispered in his ear how gorgeous he was, telling him exactly how much he liked every part of his body, telling him how beautiful and strong and sexy he was, until David was melting with it, on fire and melting at the same time; like how did Patrick know, how did he _know_ how desperately David loved someone talking to him like that?

David tried to be quiet because he wanted to keep listening to Patrick forever, but as his orgasm built he heard himself making inarticulate sounds and saying Patrick’s name, and Patrick was whispering, “I want to make you come, I want to see you, you’re so beautiful when you come, David, I want to see your face, I want to look at you,” and when David arched up and gasped or maybe screamed, Patrick said, “Come for me, David,” and his voice was so low and tender, and his hand was so sure and slow on David’s cock, and eyes were so soft; and it was all _too much,_ too much all at once, and David came, he felt like he came forever, all over Patrick’s hand and all over himself and then he fell back boneless.

Patrick got up to get a towel and cleaned him up while David lay still with his eyes closed. He felt like he was floating. He never wanted to move again.

Patrick lay down next to him. He was still fully dressed. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, and kissed David’s temple.

David kept his eyes closed. He felt shy, suddenly.

“Did you like that?” Patrick whispered.

David nodded, still with his eyes closed. “I like—I like when you say … things. I guess you could—I guess that was obvious.”

“Just telling the truth, sweetheart,” Patrick said. 

At that, David turned and buried his head in Patrick’s chest. He reached down to palm Patrick’s dick, feeling him hard under the rough denim, and said, “You didn’t even let me get your clothes off.”

Patrick pushed against his hand. “Mm, I know,” he said. 

David said, “I have an idea,” as his fingers traced the outline of Patrick’s cock.

“What?” Patrick whispered, pushing against him.

“A request,” David amended. “First, take off these clothes.” His hand fluttered, indicating Patrick’s body.

“You’re not going to take them off for me?” Patrick said, his voice teasing. “I did it for you."

“If you wanted me to do work, you shouldn’t have made me come like that.”

Patrick laughed, a joyful sound, and kissed him, and sat up and unbuttoned his shirt and shucked off his jeans and underwear. When he was naked, he lay back down next to David, his dick still hard and poking into David’s hip.

“What’s your request?” he said, kissing him under his ear. David shivered.

He turned to lay on his back and tugged at Patrick. “I want you to—up here—my face.”

“Oh,” Patrick said. He crawled over David, crawled up his body, until he was kneeling over him, straddling his shoulders, those magnificent thighs on either side of David’s face, his thick cock pressing bluntly into his chin.

“Are you sure?” Patrick said, grasping the headboard, and David nodded so enthusiastically that he was afraid he would dislocate his spinal cord. 

Patrick reached down and stroked David’s cheek with his thumb. Then he took hold of his cock and very carefully, but very firmly, inserted it in David’s mouth.

David’s mouth closed over him, and Patrick groaned but didn’t move, his thighs trembling a little. He said, “Are you—tell me when—”

David made an affirmative sound, gripping Patrick’s ass and pulling him in.

“David,” Patrick breathed. David looked up and saw Patrick looking down at him, his eyes all pupil, dark with lust. David swirled his tongue around, making a show of it, and Patrick groaned and began thrusting into his mouth, slowly at first but then with growing forcefulness. David moaned, and Patrick said, “You like that, oh my God, David—”

Patrick reached down and threaded his fingers through David’s hair and gripped his head firmly, holding him in place, as he continued thrusting into his mouth. David clutched at Patrick’s thighs and his ass and reveled in the feeling of Patrick above him, around him, surrounding him and filling him.

When Patrick’s movements grew more frantic, David hollowed his cheeks and sucked Patrick down further, and Patrick gasped out, “Oh, God, David, oh, fuck—I can’t—” and he shuddered as he came, and David swallowed around him, taking everything Patrick was giving him, and it was perfect, perfect.

Patrick’s thighs were shaking as he carefully pulled out of David’s mouth and swung his leg over so he could slide down the bed next to him. He gathered David up in his arms and kissed him on the cheek, on the neck, on the lips, everywhere he could reach, as he murmured, “Thank you, David, that was amazing, thank you,” and the contrast between this sweet politeness and the thorough face-fucking he had just received struck David as funny, and he had to hide a smile against Patrick’s shoulder.

*

After they cleaned up, they spooned together, Patrick cuddled up to David’s back, holding him against his chest. Snuggling, David was realizing, was something Patrick saw as an essential post-coital activity, and that was—well, David had no complaints about that. 

David put his hand over Patrick’s hand on his chest and said softly, “So—who was that guy?”

He felt Patrick’s body tense up. “Oh,” he said, his breath a warm puff of air against David’s shoulder blade. “He was someone I used to—hook up with, I guess.”

“Oh,” David said. He’d figured as much, but he felt a pang. Which was stupid, but that was—he could handle that.

Patrick said, “It wasn’t serious or anything.”

David said, “Okay. But just for the record, it’s fine if—I mean, you’re allowed to have a past.” He thought of his own past, and gave an inward shudder.

Patrick cuddled closer to his back, his arm tightening around him. David snuggled closer. He felt deliciously drowsy, with Patrick’s warm body against him.

Then Patrick’s voice came again: “Um. I guess I should tell you something.”

David was instantly wide awake, his heart pounding, his stomach churning. Those words had never meant anything good for him.

_I knew it. It knew this was too good to be true._

“What?” he said.

Patrick spoke into David’s shoulder, his voice muffled. “So, uh, I haven’t been out very long,” he said.

“Out?” David wanted to make sure he understood.

Patrick said, “Out, as gay. I’m gay, David. But right before I moved here, I was engaged.”

David said, “Engaged?” Suddenly he wanted to see Patrick’s face. He squirmed around so he was facing him.

Patrick wasn’t looking at him. “To a woman, I mean. God, I’m really not explaining this well. I thought, my whole life I thought, I mean, I _assumed,_ I was straight. I was really—I guess, I was stupid.” 

_Engaged_ was still ricocheting in his brain, but David reached up, his hand coming up to stroke Patrick’s shoulder. “Everybody’s different, Patrick.”

Patrick let out a breath that was almost a sob. “Well, thanks. So, when I broke it off with Rachel, I kind of just ran away, and I ended up here.”

David kept stroking Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick went on, “Anyway, that guy. When I moved here, I knew—I mean I was pretty sure, that I was gay but I’d never—I wanted to try—”

“Sex with men?”

“Yeah.” Patrick scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t ready to date, so I got on the app—ugh, God, this is so hard.”

David said, “You have no reason to be embarrassed about any of this.”

“I know, I know. I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you something. That guy—we used to hook up. That’s all it was. But I asked him out once, and he freaked. And now I see why.” Patrick waved a hand. “He’s married. He was cheating on his wife, with me.”

“You don’t know he was cheating,” David said. “They could have an open relationship or something.”

“I don’t think so,” Patrick said, and David thought of the shocked look on the guy’s face, and thought Patrick was probably right.

“Well,” David said, “I’m sure that’s upsetting, to learn he was lying to you.”

Patrick said, “That’s not why I’m upset. Don’t you see, David? That could have been _me._ It almost _was_ me. Married, with a couple of kids maybe, and then eventually—cheating on my wife, with men.”

Patrick looked really upset, and David thought how ill-equipped he was for this conversation. “Okay,” he said. “But that’s not you. You _did_ figure it out. And now you’re living your best gay life out here in Schitt’s Creek.” He smiled tentatively, not sure how Patrick would take that.

“My best gay life,” Patrick said, his eyes lighting up. “With you.”

David thought, _for now._ And then, _until you get tired of me._ Then Patrick was kissing him and he couldn’t keep the thoughts in his head.

Patrick kissed him slowly for a long moment, his lips lingering on his. Then he pulled back and said, “Also, I’ve been meaning to tell you this because we’re—I wanted you to know—I mean, since I haven’t been out that long, there are things I haven’t done.” 

“Things,” David repeated stupidly.

“Sex things,” Patrick said, blushing very pink, but also looking very determined.

“That’s okay,” David said. “There’s no pressure here.”

Patrick said, “I _want_ to try new things, with you.”

“Okay,” David said, feeling breathless, because now Patrick’s eyes were gleaming with a completely different kind of light.

So David had the pleasure, later that night, of introducing Patrick to the joys of getting rimmed, upon experiencing which Patrick completely lost his fucking mind. Then Patrick wouldn’t be satisfied until he had returned the favor, even though David insisted that this was not a one-for-one exchange kind of thing. But Patrick had a look on his face, the same look he had when he was determined to master a new dance step, and who was David to say no to a man who wanted to acquire a new skill?

 _Trying new things_ with Patrick? Well. This was going to be fun.

*

The next morning, David was at the theater, putting the final touches on the stage decorations.

His mother was on her way over to see the sets in their final form. She had actually been leaving him alone lately to make decisions about the sets, which meant that she really didn’t know what she was about to see. He wasn’t nervous, though.

Okay, he was nervous. But he didn’t _want_ to be nervous. He knew it looked good. It was as close to his vision as he could have achieved, considering their budget and location. 

He wished Patrick were here. It was scary how quickly he’d gotten used to having Patrick around, making him feel better just from his presence. He’d have to … watch that. 

Patrick was with Ray right now, interviewing for the business assistant job. David had helped him pick out a shirt to go with this suit, and had knotted his tie for him, as well as he could with the way Patrick kept kissing him every time he came close.

Patrick had turned down the job at Christmas World. He assured David that David shouldn’t feel any pressure because of this; Patrick had options other than helping with David’s business, and David should think about what was right for him.

So that’s what he was doing. Thinking.

About Rose Apothecary.

It was possible, just possible, that he had given up on the idea too quickly. It had been a shock when his mother had voted against him for the lease, and an even bigger shock when he found out why. And after that, he didn’t want to think about his business idea, because it just made him think about his mother and his mother’s opinion of him.

But Patrick had changed that, with his business degree and his intelligent questions and his bright eyes and his encouragement and enthusiasm for the idea, so that David was starting to think about it again. 

So yeah, the general store space was gone. But maybe David could find another space, and make it beautiful. 

Like he had here, with this stage. 

He could do it. He really could. He _would_ do it, in fact. He thought of all the vendors he already knew about in this area who could benefit from a marketplace to sell their products. Lily with those gorgeous scarves that were somehow made of cat hair, Brenda with her elderberry lotion and eucalyptus eye cream, and that smooth, pure butter from the Amish farm. 

He thought of having Patrick, with knowledge of business and his orderly mind, working with him. He thought of the grants Patrick mentioned, and Patrick saying confidently, _I can get the money._ That shouldn’t be sexy. Why was it so sexy?

So. Was he doing this? He was doing this.

Patrick was in the middle of his interview. David shouldn’t text him. On the other hand, Patrick was definitely someone who would remember to put his phone on silent before an interview. He texted:

 **David:** Rose Apothecary  
**David:** coming soon to a retail space near you  
**David:** or possibly not near you  
**David:** tbd

Patrick’s reply came back immediately.

 **Patrick:** EXCELLENT NEWS 

**David:** wait are you texting me from your interview

 **Patrick:** its already over  
**Patrick:** Ray offered me the job on sight  
**Patrick:** must have been the excellently knotted tie

 **David:** that’s a given  
**David:** well look at you  
**David:** job offers everywhere

 **Patrick:** yes but  
**Patrick:** one possibility is definitely my favorite

David found himself smiling at his phone. He put his hand over his mouth, even though there was no one here to see him. He was really doing this. He and Patrick were doing this. He typed:

 **David:** oh really which one is that

 **Patrick:** well Ray was very persuasive

David was composing a reply to this piece of sass when he heard the door open and turned to see his mother. He put his phone in his pocket as she came up to stand beside him and threaded her arm through his.

She was silent, just looking at the stage, running over everything, every detail, with her practiced, professional eyes. She had the air of someone ready to deliver a pronouncement, a judgment that would be final, forever. David hated that he was holding his breath, waiting for it.

He swallowed the nervous commentary that wanted to bubble up and spill out, all the things he’d had to compromise on, the things he wanted to do compared to what he’d been able to do.

“David,” she said, drawing the syllables out.

“What?”

“You have managed to create a space here utterly reminiscent of the last days of the Weimer republic. It’s what I envisioned. It’s even more than I envisioned.”

“Thank you,” David said. He tried to keep his voice low and quiet, like he heard stuff like this from his mother every day of the week. 

She went on, “David, I’m aware that you weren’t pleased about my decision regarding the lease on the general store. I know you have an eye, I’ve always known that. I simply doubted whether you had the experience to be equal to the rigor of starting a business.”

“Yes, you made that _very_ clear.”

She put her other hand on his arm and gave a little squeeze. “Well, I want you to know that if I had that city council vote to do over again, I would vote quite differently.” 

David felt his face twisting, revealing he didn’t know what. This was _too much._ They didn’t _do_ stuff like this. He said, “Oh, well, in fact—” and he found he couldn’t go on.

“What is it, David?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve actually been thinking about doing it anyway, looking around for another space, a different space. Patrick is going to help me.”

He said the last bit a little defiantly, and braced himself, waiting for her to poke holes in the idea. Waited for the knowing look, the condescending smile, waited for her to say something like, _why would you go into business with someone you are dating when your relationships have been one bungle after another?_

She said, “I’m delighted to hear that Patrick will assist you with your business, David. Just as I’ve been delighted to have your assistance with all of this.” She gestured to the stage. 

Then she went on, “To have someone special at your side while you accomplish something together—well, there’s nothing like it in the world.”

She squeezed his arm. David nodded, biting his lips, looking at the stage, the sets. _His_ sets, his stage, his design.

And for a moment—for _this_ moment, at least, it felt like they were the kind of mother and son who _did_ do stuff like this.


	10. Showtime

It was Patrick’s last day working on the farm. 

He had enjoyed this job. He had enjoyed being out of an office and away from numbers and business for awhile. But now, he had found something that he actually wanted to do with his business degree, something worthwhile, something exciting. He and David had started talking about a business plan, and he had the grant applications in his laptop, ready to fill out.

In a few days, he would start work at Ray’s. He was a little worried because he wanted to focus all his attention on the business, but he also knew it would be a while before the business showed a profit, or until the grants came through. So David suggested that Patrick ask Ray if he could work there on a part-time basis, and when Patrick did, Ray had agreed with flattering quickness. 

For Patrick’s last day, Heather had given him an enormous basket of cheese, more cheese than any one person could realistically consume. Well. Except for one person, maybe.

Patrick took a picture of the basket and texted it to David.

 **David:** what is that

 **Patrick:** what does it look like

 **David:** don’t toy with me Patrick

 **Patrick:** I would be willing to share this with the right person  
**Patrick:** for a price

 **David:** what price

 **Patrick:** why don’t you come over and I’ll show you

 **David:** is this a sex thing  
**David:** because I’ll tell you right now I’ll do anything

 **Patrick:** wow  
**Patrick:** that easy huh

 **David:** for cheese  
**David:** yes absolutely

So that’s how David ended up at Patrick’s little dining room table, eating cheese and a bunch of little fancy crackers, along with a spinach and walnut salad Patrick had made to go along with it. David was tucking into all of it like it was his last meal.

Watching David eat cheese was … something. Seeing his eyes roll back like that, like they did sometimes when they were in bed together, was making Patrick have to shift in his seat. 

This was ridiculous.

“You know, this cheese would be perfect for our store,” David said thoughtfully.

An hour later, Patrick found himself standing by, silently admiring, as David talked to Heather persuasively and confidently about the store and the advantages of partnering with him and the new markets that would open up to her. It ended with a handshake agreement, followed by a long digression about the nuances of taste and texture of hard versus soft cheeses and the aging process, and a lot of other things that Patrick had very little knowledge or interest in.

And then they went back to Patrick’s apartment, and Patrick tried to say he’d only been joking about David having to pay for the cheese with sex, and David said, his eyes glinting with promise, “Oh, but I was most assuredly not joking. So get naked.” 

He got naked. After they got into bed together, David said, “So, you said you wanted to try new things. What would you like to try tonight?”

“I like everything we’ve done so far,” Patrick said.

“Me too,” David said. “That’s not what I asked. I want to know what you want to try next.”

“I don’t have a list,” Patrick protested.

“Patrick, there’s no way you don’t have a list.”

“Okay, I do,” Patrick admitted, and David’s laugh rang out.

“So what’s on the list?” he said. 

Patrick could feel his face flushing. “Well, how do you feel about—um, penetration?”

“I’m in favor of it,” David said, tracing patterns on Patrick's shoulder. “Are we talking about you penetrating me? Or me penetrating you?”

“Either. Both. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

“Really?”

“No, I wanted to wait until I had a real boyfriend.” Then he heard what he just said.

David’s face changed. “A what?” he whispered.

“Um,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry, David, it’s too soon. I shouldn’t—” He was trying to read the expression on David’s face. Had he just fucked this up?

David swallowed. He said, “No, you’re good. It’s good. Um.”

“Listen,” Patrick said. He took David’s hand and kissed it. “I want us to take our time. We have time. I’m not assuming anything. Just know that—I like you, okay?”

“I like you, too,” David said softly.

Patrick kissed him, gently, and David kissed him back, his lips clinging to his. Maybe this was okay. Maybe he hadn’t fucked this up. He decided to bring it back to the matter at hand. “So what do you think? About—about penetration? What do you like?”

David gave his shoulders a little shake and seemed to accept the change in subject. He said, smiling a little, “So are you asking me if I’m a top or bottom?”

“No, I mean, yes. I guess. I’m asking you if you have a preference. Isn’t that the polite thing to do?”

“Oh, it’s very polite,” David said, and his smile got bigger.

Patrick tipped his head into David’s chest. “You’re laughing at me,” he said.

He felt David’s arms wrap around him. “No, I love that you’re asking me, Patrick,” he whispered. “Some people just assume. So the answer is, I like both. And I’d love to try both, with you.”

“Really?” Patrick said, his face still pressed against David’s chest.

“Yes,” David said. His hands came up to Patrick’s head, tilted it back so he could kiss him. He said, “I mean, I have a list too.”

Patrick laughed. “Okay,” he said.

David said. “So, my suggestion is we start with what will probably be a little more familiar to you.”

So David showed Patrick how to get him ready with his fingers, and Patrick worked David open with one finger, then another, and then a third, taking his time, crooking them until he found the spot inside that reduced David to a quivering mess, and then he slid on a condom and tried to go slow, but David was so hot and tight around him and it was so intense that it was all over embarrassingly quickly; but then he finished David off with his mouth and David refused to hear any kind of apology. 

“That was insanely hot, so please shut up,” David murmured. “Did you like it?”

Patrick gave a huff of laughter. “Yes, yes, David, I liked it a lot."

After a minute, David said. “Mm. It’s late. I should get home soon.”

“No, stay,” Patrick said. “I mean, if you want.”

David didn’t answer right away. He smoothed his hands over Patrick’s chest. When he glanced up, and his eyes were soft. “Well,” he said. “If my boyfriend wants me to stay.”

Patrick took David’s face in his hands and kissed him fiercely. “He definitely does.”

Then David leaned back and said, “One thing, though. I don’t have my things.”

“You can borrow my things.” 

David raised one eyebrow at him. “Um,” he said, and Patrick laughed.

But David borrowed Patrick’s toothbrush; then he kicked him out of the bathroom, but then kept calling him back to shout his horror through the door about the products he found there. 

Later, they were in bed together, spooning, with David—his boyfriend—warm and solid against his back. Patrick felt so full, like a cup of water filled to the brim, trembling on the edge of spilling over. He smoothed his hand over David’s arm where it was wrapped around his chest. He wanted to find something to say that reflected how he felt, but words felt inadequate. 

Finally he whispered, “David, I’m—I’m happy about tonight.”

“Which part?” David said.

“Everything. All of it."

David pulled him closer. “Me too,” he said, and that was enough.

*

When Patrick opened his eyes, the bed was empty. He lay for awhile, getting his bearings, and then heard David’s voice coming from outside. It sounded like he was on the phone.

Patrick stretched, enjoying the luxury of not having to get up at dawn with the goats. He scooted over a little and pulled the other pillow toward him, wondering if it would smell like David. It did.

The door flew open. “I need a retail space,” David exclaimed. He threw his phone down on the bed. “People are interested, but no one wants to discuss details until they know where their products will be sold.”

“So you were just talking to a potential vendor?”

“Yes?”

“At a time I’ve heard you call ‘the crack of dawn’?”

David crawled back into bed. “Okay,” he said. “It’s nine-thirty.”

“Exactly,” Patrick said, pulling David toward him.

David propped his head on Patrick’s chest. “After talking to Heather yesterday—I got excited,” he said softly. “I want to get started now, Patrick.”

Patrick stroked his hand down through David’s hair, which was beautifully mussed. He said, “We can keep working on your business plan.”

“But I want to start looking at spaces. Like now.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “But we’ve got dress rehearsals every day this week, and the first show on Friday.”

“Oh, God, I know,” David said. “I have a million things to do.”

As if on cue, his phone rang. David rolled over and looked at it. “It’s my mother. This can’t be good,” he said.

Patrick smiled as David hit the answer button and listened to what sounded like a long, polysyllabic screed.

“Well, if she’s sick, she’s sick,” David said into the phone. “What did you say to her?”

David held the phone away from his ear, so Patrick heard Moira’s response. “I said if it is called _walking_ pneumonia, then surely you can _sit_ in one place and play the violin!’”

“Okay, that’s really not how that works,” David said. “But you know what? I’ll deal with it. Don’t talk to anyone.”

David hung up. “Ugh!”

“Anything I can do?” Patrick said.

David clapped his hands on his cheeks. “Well,” he said. “Do you happen to know anyone who plays the violin and is a really, really quick learner?”

“Maybe ask Jocelyn?”

David sighed and picked up his phone. He pointed it at Patrick. “So, the show is important and we have a lot to do. But as soon as it’s over, we’re going to start looking for spaces.”

“Definitely,” Patrick said.

*

“So, this will be your office!” Ray said, beaming.

Patrick looked around at the posters all over the walls, the knickknacks crowded over every surface. A very large stack of papers, sloping dangerously to one side, dominated the desk.

Patrick searched for something to say. “Um, I like the cactus,” he said. 

Ray put his hand on his chest. “Patrick, I have had that cactus for many years. I am so happy to hear you like it.”

Ray fell silent, still smiling and looking at the cactus. “So,” Patrick said.

Ray said, “Well, I should warn you that I have been very busy launching my closet reorganization business so there is just a smidge of a backlog there.”

As if to punctuate that statement, a few papers slid off the stack and gently fluttered to the floor.

“Feel free to organize things however you like!” Ray said, smiling broadly like he was giving him a gift.

Patrick picked one of the papers. It was a business license renewal. “Was this submitted to the province?” he said.

“Oh, yes, naturally,” Ray said, his smile faltering just a little. He backed up slowly. “Of course, it never hurts to double check!”

“So, should I double check everything, all of this?” Patrick said. He put the business license back on top of the pile and attempted to straighten it, but then the middle of the stack bulged out threateningly. Patrick slowly removed his hands, and the pile trembled but stayed intact.

When he looked up, Ray had gone. 

So. Patrick sat down at the desk.

He spent the morning sorting the papers into piles. He found a portal for the province of Ontario so he could see what had been submitted, and methodically started going through the stack. He created a color coded sorting system for the different types of forms he was seeing and started filling up the file cabinet.

Patrick found he was enjoying himself. The work was tedious, but he enjoyed making order out of chaos, and this office was definitely chaos. He put in his earbuds and cued up an old playlist he used for road trips.

Patrick was singing along to Piano Man, zooming back and forth on his wheeled chair between the file cabinet, his laptop, and the shrinking stack of papers, when he heard the sound of a throat clearing. He jumped, and the papers he was holding flew out of his hands. He looked up to see David in the doorway with his arms folded, leaning on the door frame, looking very amused.

“Someone is busy,” David said.

Patrick felt himself flushing as he bent over to pick up his papers. “How long have you been standing there?”

David smirked. “Long enough to see I made absolutely the right decision for the person to handle the paperwork for my store.”

“It’s our store, and there’s a lot more to ‘business stuff’ than just paperwork,” Patrick said, attempting to salvage some of his dignity.

David just gave him an arched eyebrow and a superior smile, and said, “So, do you want to go to lunch, or would that interrupt this whole”—he made a circle with his hand—“find your bliss thing you have going on here?”

*

Over lunch, David said, “So what did your fiancee say when you told her you were gay?”

“Oh, um, I didn’t.”

“So, wait, does anyone know? Do your parents know?”

“Yes, my parents know. I told them. But I haven’t talked to Rachel.”

Rachel had texted him a few times, but so far he had let the notifications slide off his screen without even opening them.

David had put down his burger, so this was serious. “You didn’t tell her? What reason did you give for breaking it off?”

Patrick squirmed. “I just said I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t marry her.”

“That’s it?” 

“I said I was sorry.”

David gave him an expressive look, one that indicated how inadequate that was. And, well. He wasn’t wrong. 

“I’ve been meaning to call her,” Patrick said. 

David’s look became, if anything, even more expressive. “And how long were you guys together?” 

“Fifteen years,” Patrick said.

“Fifteen _years?_ ” David said, his voice rising. “That’s—um, that’s not what I expected you to say.”

“It was off and on. It was—” How could he explain? 

“Fifteen years,” David said. He seemed stunned.

“David,” Patrick said. He didn’t like the look on David’s face. “We got together when we were in high school. And I didn’t know what was wrong, but I knew something was. And we’d break up, and then we’d just—we’d fall back into it. Over and over. It wasn’t good.”

“But then you asked her to marry you,” David said.

“Yeah. It was—it was a last-ditch attempt. A way to force things. It didn’t work. Obviously.”

David was looking at him with an expression Patrick couldn’t read. “Okay,” he said. “Listen. We’ve only been dating a couple weeks. You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I think I do,” Patrick insisted.

“But, I think you owe her one.”

*

That night, Patrick was staring at his phone.

David was right. He owed Rachel an explanation.

He’d been ignoring everything in his past life. Thinking about his family, his job, and, especially, thinking about Rachel, felt like looking into a quivering mass of quicksand; he’d felt, obscurely, that if he let himself think about his past life, if he touched it, if he let it touch him, he’d be sucked back into the familiar pattern: that he’d look into Rachel’s eyes and see her love for him and feel his love for her and decide once again that it was enough because there was no logical reason it shouldn’t be enough.

He realized something now: the feeling of not-enough should have mattered more to him, that it was a reason just on its own, that he didn’t need any other.

But, of course, there actually was a bigger reason, he knew now; a logical one, one no one could argue with, not even his past, addicted-to-logic self. And he still hadn’t told her that reason.

He tapped the call icon. 

And it was so awful, because she was so happy to hear from him. And then he had to say words that made her not happy to hear from him. The knot of dread in his stomach slowly twisted into guilt as he listened to her cry. And of course she asked _how long have you known_ and _why didn’t you tell me?_ and he had to stumble through _I didn’t know myself_ and _I had to figure it out_ and _I know I should have told you earlier._

Finally she said, “This must be hard for you. I know how much you hate admitting you’re wrong.” She still had tears in her voice, but she sounded almost teasing.

“Rach,” he said, and then couldn’t go on.

She said, “I didn’t mean—it’s okay, Patrick. I mean. I’m glad you called. I’m glad you told me.”

After he hung up, he made himself dinner. He thought about calling David, but then he didn’t. He went to bed early. _You need to rest your instruments,_ Moira always said. He was resting his instrument, then. Trying to.

But he couldn’t sleep. At eleven, he texted David.

 **Patrick:** are you up

 **David:** yes

 **Patrick:** what are the chances of you coming over here  
**Patrick:** like now

 **David:** mr brewer  
**David:** is this a bootycall

 **Patrick:** no  
**Patrick:** well sortof  
**Patrick:** I called Rachel today

 **David:** oh im sorry  
**David:** good for you  
**David:** how did it go

 **Patrick:** it went ok  
**Patrick:** I just want to see you  
**Patrick:** like a bootycall  
**Patrick:** but with feelings

 **David:** on my way

So David came over, and slipped under the covers next to Patrick, and wrapped his arms and legs and body around him like shield, and pressed soft kisses into his skin, while Patrick talked a little and cried a little in the warm safe space between their bodies, until they both slept.

*

It was opening night. Patrick was ready. 

He knew his steps. He and Stevie had practiced the Money number so many times it was invading his dreams. David had worked with him on all of the routines, and he was trying to channel Gene Kelly as a cocky, mischievous emcee. 

But Patrick still felt, sometimes, that he wasn’t the right person for the part. He’d said as much to David yesterday, and David turned it back on him, saying, “Why?”

“I just know I don’t look like—”

“You don’t look like what?”

Patrick shrugged. “Like Joel Grey, or Alan Cumming. Like a queer icon.”

David said, “Okay, I don’t know much about acting, but approaching any role by telling yourself to be an icon seems like the wrong move. There’s no one right way to play the part. You do it _your_ way, and your way is good. It really is, Patrick.”

That was reassuring. Patrick knew that David didn’t give out compliments unless he meant them.

They had the usual last minute disasters. David had found a replacement violinist with Jocelyn’s help, but then Moira had to work to change the musical arrangement in order to make her part less complex and easier to learn. 

Gwen had fallen behind on the alterations. David was ready to commit murder, but Moira had spoken up on Gwen’s behalf, saying, _Gwendolyn is overburdened with extra obligations at the moment, dear, but I can assure you she will deliver with flying colors._ Then even Alexis inexplicably jumped in and defended her, rolling her eyes and saying _Chill, David, Gwen is like super busy, okay?_

All of which had, naturally, just wound David up more. “Since when is everyone Gwen’s best friend?” he’d asked, but he’d gotten caught up with the million other things he had to do, and Gwen had escaped his wrath. And it looked like it was going to be fine: Gwen had texted David this morning that the rest of the costumes were ready and she was dropping them off at the theater.

Mia was coming to see the show tonight, and Patrick told her to make sure she came backstage afterwards. Heather was coming too, to see her furniture in action, she said, and all of his co-workers on the farm said they would come, to make sure he didn’t forget them now that he was famous.

He’d been in Schitt’s Creek for less than a year, and he already felt more at home here than he ever had in the town where he grew up.

When Patrick got to the theater, Moira was deep in conversation with Stevie. Stevie was nervous, Patrick could see. He gave her a reassuring smile. Patrick looked around for David, but didn’t see him. Gwen handed Patrick his costume and he put it on, struggling to get the straps fastened and laying flat.

Janine applied his makeup: the white pancake makeup, the black eyeliner, the red lipstick. She drew a mole on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. He’d worn stage makeup before, of course, but it was the kind of makeup where it’s not supposed to look like makeup. This was different. He looked different. He thought maybe he liked it.

David came dashing down from the tech booth just in time to stand next to Moira while she delivered a last minute pep talk. “You’ve gestated beneath my wing long enough, my darlings. Now it’s time to fly!”

Then it was time. Patrick lined up behind the Kit Kat girls, listening to the orchestra playing the overture. David appeared next to him.

“Do I look okay?” Patrick said. He nervously pulled at the straps.

David touched his shoulder. He said softly, “You do. You look like a fucking snack.”

Patrick laughed, feeling a deep thrum of pleasure. “Really?”

“Yes. I really like this costume, Patrick,” David said. He tucked a finger underneath one of the straps crisscrossing Patrick’s chest. He trailed his finger over Patrick’s skin, following the strap down his body, down, down, further and further, while at the same time bending his head and brushing his lips against Patrick’s neck where it met his shoulder. Patrick shivered.

“So you like it?” Patrick whispered.

“Yes, I fucking like it,” David murmured against his neck. 

“Places, everyone!” Moira called from up ahead. They broke apart. 

“You’re going to be great. I’ll be watching you,” David whispered.

Patrick stepped on stage, his skin prickling from the heat he’d seen in David’s eyes.

_I’ll be watching you._

As he plunged into the first steps of the opening number, Patrick felt very conscious of his body, of how it looked in this ridiculous, revealing outfit. 

That sense of being watched, of his body being something to look at, tingled under his skin, bubbled under his portrayal of the emcee that night, the ultimate showman. Patrick felt it, every second he was up on stage: he wanted to perform, he wanted applause. He wanted to be looked at and admired and _seen._ Men, women, everyone; he wanted them all to look at him and see him and not be able to take their eyes off of him.

Most of all, he wanted David to see him. See him and watch him and want him, and never look away.

*

When Patrick came off stage after the final curtain call, Moira was at his elbow, smiling broadly. “My felicitations, Patrick. I’ve never seen you dance so well!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick said as, at the same time, a hand closed around his arm and a voice growled, “Come with me, _now,”_ and he was being very firmly dragged away.

David pulled him around the corner and pushed him against the wall, kissing him hungrily. “David,” Patrick said, between kisses.

David whispered in his ear, his voice low and intent, “I want you to fuck me in this outfit. I want to wrap my fingers and my tongue around your cock and get you harder than you’ve ever been. I want to see what your cock looks like hard and dripping and framed by this harness. I want to look at your pretty face in this black eyeliner and this red lipstick while you pound my ass with your cock.”

Patrick stuttered out, “Jesus Christ, David,” and grabbed his head and kissed him so hard their teeth scraped together painfully. David had his hands all over him, running over his arms and shoulders and chest, reaching down to squeeze his hips and his ass. Patrick felt like he was going to come apart, right then.

Suddenly, they heard voices, close by, and broke apart, but David kept his arms around him, which Patrick was grateful for. He could feel he wasn’t in any condition to be seen just now, especially by his—well, by David’s mother. Which is who it was.

Great. This was great.

Moira sing-songed, “Boys, we are having a little champagne backstage to celebrate a triumphant beginning!” as Stevie smirked at them from behind her.

“We’ll be there soon,” David said, while Patrick just nodded and tried to look like a respectable human being.

“Don’t be late,” Moira trilled. “We all have something to celebrate tonight!”

Stevie said, with her eyes very wide and smug, “Yes, _please_ don’t do anything that prevents you from coming to the party.”

David glowered at Stevie while Patrick tried to smile.

Then they were gone, and David said quickly, “Okay, so we’re going to go, and put in an appearance, and congratulate everyone and let them congratulate us, and then we’re going to go back to your place and you’re going to fuck my brains out.” He turned to go, but Patrick stopped him.

“Uh, I need a minute,” he said, and David stopped. He looked at Patrick with a question mark in his eyes, and then understanding dawned and he glanced down at his crotch. Patrick knew his erection was painfully obvious, bulging obscenely between the straps of the harness. “Don’t laugh,” he growled. “This is your fault.”

“I’m not laughing,” David said, and licked his lips, his eyes still fastened on Patrick’s crotch. “Jesus, Patrick, do you have any idea how hot you are?”

“That is not helping,” Patrick said between gritted teeth.

David’s gaze flicked up to Patrick’s face, a quick, amused glance, and Patrick was flooded with a different kind of warmth.

*

The afterparty was a blur. He remembered Mia, looking flushed and beautiful as she said, “You were fantastic, good job and everything but I need you to introduce me to Stevie right now please,” and Patrick did, and then caught sight of them later, laughing together, their heads bent toward each other.

Moira saying, “A veritable triumph,” and offering toast after toast, each more fulsome than the last.

Gwen sharing shots and laughing with someone in a priest collar, what was that about?

They were all together when the first reviews came in. There were raves and more raves and only one pan, and Moira scolded them all into silence so she could read them out loud to everyone and make editorial comments.

When she was done, she said, “Alexis, I must congratulate you on your work here. I can’t remember the last time I was bathed in such a limelight of positivity.” 

“Oh, this? This was the easy,” she said. “Reporters around here are desperate for material. When I was helping Kylie launch her makeup line in LA, it was a lot more crowded of a market.”

But she looked pleased, and Patrick was happy for her.

Patrick wiped off half his makeup with a paper towel. He drank champagne, but “Not too much,” as David whispered in his ear. Patrick was high from the thrill of performance but also from the heat of David’s eyes on him, from David’s hands, constantly touching and stroking his shoulders and his arms. The words _I want you to fuck me in this outfit_ thrummed under Patrick’s skin.

And then they were saying goodbye, and everyone was congratulating them and no one seemed to care they were leaving together, or that Patrick was still wearing his costume, though David had draped a coat over him. Maybe they didn’t have to be discreet anymore. Maybe they were never really that discreet. Patrick didn’t care. As they left, Patrick looked around for Mia, but she and Stevie were nowhere to be found. He mentally sent Mia good luck vibes.

And then he and David were in the car, and Patrick was driving and David kept looking at him with eyes that were dark and hot, and it was a miracle Patrick could focus on his driving at all. But they made it back to Patrick’s without disaster and David was stripping off his own clothes and getting into bed and pulling at Patrick and whispering “keep this on, keep all of this on,” when Patrick tried to take his clothes off too.

“Even the shoes?” Patrick said, laughing, as David tried to pull him down onto the bed with him.

David let go and made a frustrated noise. “No, the shoes need to come off. Also that jacket.” He gestured to Patrick’s body.

So Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and unloosened his laces and pulled off his shoes. Then Patrick stood up and took off the jacket with a bit of flourish. He hung it carefully over the back of the chair.

He put his leg up on the bed, one at a time, and unfastened the black garters and drew off his socks. 

He moved to slide the garters off too, but David made a hungry little sound and held out his arms. “Leave those on,” he said. “Come here.”

Patrick shook his head. He was tingling all over, like he had on stage. “You know, I need this costume for the rest of the performances,” he said conversationally. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to muss it up.” 

Patrick ran his hands over his chest, down to his thighs, and back up again. He saw David’s eyes following the motions of his hands.

David licked his lips and said, “We’ll be careful. I’ll be careful."

Patrick ran his hands over his body again. _I’ll be watching you._ He brought his hands up to his nipples and pinched them through the tank top.

David groaned. “Jesus, Patrick.” He sat up, like he couldn’t wait anymore.

“Stay there,” Patrick said, and David stopped. His eyes sparked and he leaned back again. 

Patrick let his eyes run up and down over David’s naked body. David was hard, and it was Patrick who had done that. David was hard for him, just from looking at him. They’d barely even touched yet.

“Touch yourself,” Patrick whispered, and David let out a breath. His hand went to his cock.

“Fuck,” David said. “You’re going to kill me.”

His eyes locked on David, Patrick reached down and put his hand over the bulge in his shorts, framed by the harness. He rubbed his palm over his cock, then traced the outline of it with his fingers. David’s eyes were fixed on his hand, watching him, his eyes black.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you, David. Do you still want that?” he asked.

David’s hand squeezed his cock, like he couldn’t help it. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Get the lube and a condom.”

David leaned over to get a condom and the bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. He sat back again. He seemed to be waiting for Patrick to tell him what to do next. Patrick licked his lips. This was quite possibly the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

“Get yourself ready for me,” he said.

Patrick thought he saw a flicker of hesitation in David’s eyes, and he said, “If you want that. Only if you want it.”

David said, his voice low, “I want it.” He picked up the bottle of lube and opened it with a little click.

Patrick watched as David spread his legs, as he opened himself up with one and then two, and then three lube-covered fingers. He made a show of it, letting Patrick see, letting him watch, and Patrick felt like he was on fire. Patrick moved his hand slowly on his cock as he watched.

David said, “I’m ready for you,” His eyes were dark and desperate. “Hurry, Patrick, _please.”_

Patrick came to the bed and knelt down between David’s legs. He unzipped the shorts and shoved the fabric down, and then rolled on the condom with shaking, eager fingers. He picked up a pillow and said, “Lift up,” and David lifted his hips so Patrick could slip the pillow underneath. Then he took his cock in his hand and teased against David’s entrance. David made a whimpering noise and pushed up.

Patrick picked up David’s hand, still messy with lube, and wrapped it roughly around his cock. David eagerly began stroking him, slicking him up, until Patrick had to grab his hand to still it, laughing a little. “Easy,” he said.

David smiled, his teeth gleaming a little as he settled back. “Then fuck me,” he said, and Patrick finally, slowly pushed in. David clutched at him. He started making little noises and pushing up against him and saying Patrick’s name, and Patrick had to stop when he was all the way in and take a deep breath. 

“Jesus, David, you’re so hot,” he said. 

David just said, “I’m hot? Patrick.” His hands ran up Patrick’s arms and to his face. His fingers traced Patrick’s bottom lip. “Your fucking lips,” he groaned. His hands trailed over Patrick’s chest, snagging on the harness. Then he threw his head back.

“Patrick, fuck, just fuck me.”

Patrick pulled almost all the way out and pushed back in. Then he did it again, and again, a little harder, drawing a groan from David. Patrick leaned forward so he could brace himself on his arms and push David’s legs up and back, thrusting his cock in a little more deeply. David’s hands flew up to the headboard to brace himself as he pushed up against Patrick, his body twisting, urging him on to go faster, and harder, and Patrick did, driving into him, not holding back, David’s body hot and tight all around him.

“Touch yourself,” Patrick whispered and David’s hand went to his cock, just trailing on it, not stroking with any kind of rhythm. His eyes were dark and intense and fixed on Patrick, and Patrick wanted to drown in that look as he felt his orgasm build. Then David threw his head back and gave a hoarse shout and his body clenched around Patrick’s cock, and Patrick heard himself shouting as he followed David over the edge.

All the strength left his arms and he collapsed, falling forward, but David caught him with hands on his chest, saying breathlessly, “The costume.”

“Oh, right, right,” Patrick said, and braced himself with one shaking arm. He paused, catching his breath. Then he used the other hand to grasp the condom and carefully pull out.

Patrick went into the bathroom and disposed of the condom. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His hair was sticking up and his eyeliner was smudged and smeared and his lips were red from lipstick and kissing. He looked debauched. 

He liked it.

He came out of the bathroom, still in his costume, and David was waiting for him by the door, in boxers and a pair of sweatpants, suddenly all business. 

He helped slide Patrick out of the harness and the tank top and the shorts and the garters. Patrick slipped on a clean pair of underwear and sleep pants while David carefully folded everything and stacked it neatly on the dresser.

“Does the costume look okay?” he asked David. “I don’t want to get in trouble with the assistant director. He’s a real hardass.”

David said, “Actually, a few wrinkles and come stains add to the whole effect. I should have incorporated that into my design concept in the first place.”

“Come stains?” Patrick said, horrified. “But we were so careful!”

David’s mouth quirked up. “No stains. I was just kidding.”

Patrick said, “Ugh. Not funny, David.”

David’s smile grew wider, one of his rare full smiles. “Well, it's a little bit funny,” he said.

Patrick folded his arms. “You know what would be funny? You explaining come stains as a ‘design concept’ to your mother.” 

“Ew, why did you even say that?” David said, giving a full body shudder and shaking out his hands.

“I better go wash off this makeup,” Patrick said. 

“Wait.” David came over to him and put his hands behind his head, holding him in place.

“What?”

“Just memorizing,” David said, and put his mouth on his.

Patrick closed his eyes as David’s lips moved gently on his. When David pulled back, Patrick said, “I mean, I could leave it on, if you like it that much."

David looked shocked. “No! My God, Patrick, that’s so bad for your skin.”

Patrick smiled and went back into the bathroom. Then he heard David’s voice through the door: “Wait, what are you using to take it off?”

Patrick looked down on the bar of soap in his hand. “Um.”

“Stop immediately!” David said. “Whatever you’re using, it’s wrong. Oh my God.”

Patrick put down the bar of soap, and David produced several mysterious little bottles from his overnight bag. Patrick sat on the closed toilet lid, his face tilted up, while David carefully wiped off his makeup. He did his eye makeup last, dabbing around his eyes with gentle fingers.

“There,” he said finally. Patrick’s eyes fluttered open to see David’s eyes fixed on him, intent and serious on his task. David said, “That’s as good as I can do it with the limited products I have available,” he said.

“Thank you, David. I’m sure it was better than bar soap.”

David gave a delicate shudder. “Tomorrow night, I’ll be more prepared.” Then he stopped and said, “I mean, if you want—I didn’t mean—”

“David,” Patrick said, taking his hand. “I’d love for you to—you can take off my makeup anytime.”

David tucked a smile into his cheek.“Well, I’m pleased to hear wearing makeup will be a regular thing for you.”

Patrick laughed. He had a suddenly dizzying sense of possibility. He couldn’t imagine he’d ever wear makeup as a regular thing, but then, a year ago he couldn’t have imagined he’d be here, dating a man, having sex with a man, and feeling, well, feeling like _this_ about a man. And here he was. So, who could tell what the future might bring?

They got under the covers and David snuggled up against Patrick’s side with a little sigh. Patrick put his arm around him. 

David fell asleep almost right away, but Patrick lay awake for a long time, enjoying the feel of David’s body against his, his hand resting on his chest.

This, he thought, was a perfect moment. One of those perfect moments he had dreamed about, but never thought could actually happen for him; he had doubted, maybe, that moments like these were even real. But David, David was real: real and warm and _here._

*

Patrick was waiting for David. He had just finished up his workday at Ray’s. David was meeting him here and they were going to drive over together to the theater to get ready for the performance tonight. 

Patrick was excited, though he was trying to tamp it down. He had found something in that monstrous stack of papers, but he wasn’t sure about it yet and he didn’t want to jinx it by saying anything.

When David walked in, he said, “What are you smiling about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

David squinted at him suspiciously. “Nothing?”

“It’s just—I may have some good news. But I don’t know yet, so I can’t say anything.”

“I feel like this is a good time to tell you how much I hate surprises.”

“This isn’t anything like that. Promise!” 

“Fine. Keep your secrets,” David huffed.

Patrick wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard an undercurrent of anxiety in David’s voice. He bit his lip and said, “It has to do with a retail space. For your business.”

David’s eyes lit up. “Where?”

“Just, that’s all I want to say for now.”

“Fine, keep your secrets” David said again. But smiling a little, this time.

When they got to the theater, they saw Gwen and Moira hunched over, looking at Moira’s phone. “Why is it so quiet, Gwendolyn?” Moira was demanding. “How does one make it louder?”

“You’ve got it muted, Moira,” Gwen said. She touched the screen, and a tinny voice came from the speakers.

“—that’s why I needed to come forward. I felt that this was something Hans Lively has been getting away with too long!”

“What is going on here?” David asked. 

“David, come here, come here, immediately!” Moira said. She and Gwen beckoned him over to look at the screen. David went over to look and Patrick leaned in too.

On the screen, a woman stood at a podium, with microphones in front of her. A press conference.

“Wait, is that Melanie?” Patrick said, bending toward the screen.

“And is that _Alexis_ next to her?” David said.

Moira said, “David, Gwendolyn and Alexis and I have been hatching a little scheme together.”

“Not a scheme, Moira!” Gwen said, her eyes still fastened on the screen.

“You are correct, Gwendolyn, it is not a scheme. It is the valiant pursuit of truth and justice!”

"What the fuck does that mean?” David said.

“Hush your protestations, David, and pay attention, and all will become clear,” Moira said. Patrick thought he had never seen Moira look quite so self-satisfied as she did now—which was saying something.

They all focused on the screen. Melanie was saying, “I have retained the services of a lawyer and will be suing both Christmas World and Hans Lively personally.”

There was an eruption of tinny voices, but Alexis suddenly stepped forward and said, “No further questions,” and put her arm around Melanie and ushered her away with a suitably serious expression. But then she glanced back at the cameras, and stopped, and tilted her head and gave a little smile. Her hand came up and tucked away an errant curl as the cameras flashed.

Moira lowered her phone.

David said, “Okay, I really need you to explain what this is about. Like now.”

Moira said, “Well, you know what I have always maintained.” She looked at them expectantly. 

“What?” David said. He was looking more and more agitated, and Patrick put a soothing hand on his back.

Moira went on with a flourish, “I have always maintained that a leopard does not change his ornamentation! And Hans Lively was always one to make full use of a dark corner or an advantageous position. So Gwendolyn here did a little digging and found a rather interesting video.”

“A video,” David repeated.

Gwen took out her phone and pulled up a video. David and Patrick bent their heads to watch. “Katy Perry?” David said.

“It’s one of those Raine videos,” she said. “It’s a party. That’s Mr. Lively in the background, see? And that’s Melanie.”

They looked at the middle aged man in a suit as he approached Melanie, crowded up against her, getting into her space. He put a hand on her breast and she pushed him away, smiling nervously.

Gwen lowered her phone. Patrick said to Gwen. “So you found this and—”

“I had a little chat with Melanie,” Gwen said. “And at the end of it she decided she’d like to take legal action.”

“Well, good for her,” Patrick said. He could just see it: Gwen intense and determined and bent on her goal like Erin Brockovich. Melanie wouldn’t stand a chance.

David looked utterly speechless for once. He said, “You both—and Alexis … did all this … for me?”

Gwen said. “Please. I did it for _Christmas.”_

“A little bit for David, Gwendolyn,” Moira said, but Gwen just scoffed.

“And Melanie, surely?” Patrick murmured.

“Melanie?” Moira said, like she’d never heard the name. She turned back to David and went on, “Of course, Christmas World is still in possession of the lease. But this little escapade of ours throws a wrench in their plans, and then we will soldier on.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Well. Actually, about that,” he said.

All eyes swiveled toward him. Patrick said, “I found the Christmas World lease in a backlog of paper on Ray’s desk. I don’t think it was ever even signed. I think between this—” he waved a hand at Gwen’s phone—“and not having a valid lease, Christmas World’s Schitt’s Creek location is doomed.”

“I can’t believe this,” David said. “Is that what you were going to tell me earlier? You found the lease?”

Patrick nodded. “Looks like you’re going to get your space after all.”

David still looked dazed. He looked at Gwen, and his mother, and at Patrick, and started to smile. “I—don’t know what to say. This is—this is incredible. Thank you.”

Moira said, “Well, if there’s anyone in this town who might have an eye to create something truly beautiful in that space, it’s you, David.” She considered. “And me. But in this case, you.”

David bit down on a smile. Patrick slipped his hand in his.

“All _I_ know,” Gwen said with satisfaction. “is that Hans Lively is not having a very merry Tuesday.”

*

Patrick was sitting at his desk at Ray’s. 

The run of Cabaret had ended yesterday. They’d had a cast party last night at the motel, and they’d all drank far too much. Patrick thought he’d seen Stevie triple-fisting at one point, but that was okay. She had Mia to take care of her. 

Gwen had asked Patrick if he wanted to keep his emcee costume. She winked at him while she did it, and he really didn’t need Gwen winking at him.

But he kept it.

Moira had ideas for about ten or twelve different productions they could do next, including a Patty Hearst musical and Shoes, Glorious Shoes: the Imelda Marcos Story. She asked David to reprise his role of “the Watson to my Sherlock” and David said it was more like the Igor to her Dr. Frankenstein, and besides he would be far too busy with the store.

Patrick had enjoyed being a performer again but he thought he, too, would take a break from the next production. But performing again inspired him to dig his guitar out of the closet and think about how he might play for David one day. 

Christmas World was gone, and the city council had awarded the lease to David. David was over there now. He was coming over later to drop off his incorporation papers then they were going to lunch. 

Sebastien was gone, too. He’d lost his job when Christmas World moved out and Hans Lively fired him for accidentally providing evidence in a sexual harassment case. Patrick smiled when he remembered the way David had blinked innocently at Sebastien when he moved out of the motel, saying _I hope the rural quiet was as restorative as you hoped._

Mia and Stevie were dating, it seemed. Patrick noticed Mia wasn’t going on any Bumpkin dates anymore, and had mused aloud if Mia was maybe rushing into things? Mia said “Fuck off, Brewer, we’re just having fun,” but her flushed cheeks and starry eyes told a different story.

Patrick looked around his office. The decor and the clutter made David shudder whenever he came here, but Patrick was getting used to it. It was a lot tidier now than when he started; he’d dealt with all the backlog and filed everything away in the file cabinet, and with any luck he’d only be here a few more months. 

He still liked the cactus. He made a mental note to get a cactus for his apartment. Maybe more than one.

He heard Ray’s voice. “Patrick!”

He came out to the front room where Ray was in the middle of an engagement photo shoot, the unlucky couple clutching rackets and contorted into awkward poses. And there was David, looking painfully handsome in a black sweater with white horizontal stripes marching up in a ladder on the front. 

David was holding a little slip of paper. It said B13. “This is for you,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement and affection and promise. 

Patrick took it, and took David’s hand.


End file.
